So, I recently had a bit of an odd revelation. I came to understand where my roommate was coming from in his desire to flee from his current life and start over.
I've always had some inkling of that emotional desire, but it was never something that I'd felt particularly strongly. However, I've been doing a lot of mulling (read: obsessing) about my life and my relationships lately, and it occurred to me that the size of my friendgroup is diminishing (as would be expected after college), and the number of people I see on a consistent basis is continuing to decrease as well. Soon, my roommate will be gone. Without him, it's entirely possible that the weekly ritual of pizza night will falter, if not fall altogether. That may be a rather pessimistic approach by me though. I often downplay the successes I've helped to create and the effort I put into systems that I want to see function.
Still, there's a part of me that is concerned that, piece by piece, my social life here will stagnate and disappear save for two or three lights.
Moreover, I realize that Lexington is running to the end of its natural course in my life. I have graduate school to think about for next year (or possibly the year after), finding a way to live the dream with my brother sometime down the road, and figuring out where I want to end up settling down.
I can't say how much time I have left here... At least a year and a half. Maybe a little more? It probably depends on what happens between now and then.
But I am happy. And it's strange to think that finally being happy for the first time in as many years as I can remember, I would want to start over somewhere new. It's almost twistedly cruel to the people I love to have them experience me mired in depression, only to flee when I've finally started to rise out of it.
But I don't intend on shutting anyone out. I don't intend on letting the lines of communication slip and wither no matter how assured I get of a desire/destination to move. Further, I intend to be a worthwhile friend to those around me until I leave and long after. I've actually noticed lately that I've been deliberately acting selflessly with the expectation that no one will either know or thank me for it. Everyone seems to be struggling in their own ways, and it makes me happy to grease the wheels of their wagon while their back is turned. People don't like to ask for help directly; just hint that they're in trouble.
That's what I went through for years. If I can ease the troubles of the people I care about even a little, then it's worth the effort, right? But is that empathy? Or guilt..? I'm a straight, white, college-educated male from a solidly middle class family. I've had every opportunity, and I've yawned my way past most of them. I've skirted by in life, barely trying, doing just enough work to get a 'B' in life.
Meanwhile, the people around me care more, try harder, have more passion, and are still succeeding less than I am with fair regularity. Not because I'm better or doing anything more "correct" than they are. But because I got luckier than they did. I'm about as close to the top of the pyramid as you can get without being born incredibly wealthy. So maybe I do feel some sense of guilt or shame with my state in life. What have I done to really deserve this? Haven't the people around me done more? And aren't there people around them that have done even more, ad infinitum? This is somewhat fascinating, because I feel a sense of obligation towards those I love who are not as well off as me, but for everyone else in the world, I have little more than my pity to hand out.
I cannot tell if this is simply pragmatism keeping me from spending all of my time and money on a problem I'll never even scratch, or if it's self-preservation? Or maybe greed? Who will look out for those people who have so little, but have tried so hard? Because I cannot help them all, is it acceptable to help none of them? Or is that simply cowardice?
Is it thoughts like these that tears holes in my stomach lining?
Is it the obsessing over whether or not I'm doing enough?
Or is it the guilt of knowing that I don't do enough?
More likely, it's a combination of many factors, and the logician in me is giving my emotional center a nasty glare for being too "intense."
Hey, cool, so I totally rambled from topic A to topic G without spending much transitional time.
Oopsies.
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Waddles
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