letting go of what kept you holding on

When you're younger or youngish or just not staring mortality in the face I suppose you hold onto existence by the "eventually" and "maybe" and how some day something good will happen to you professionally, academically, financially, socially, whatever, you start to create fantasies early on where the novel you write gets published, or you become manager, or you save someone's life, or you retire at age 30 and travel, or you can sing, or dance, or solve an impossible equation, or fall in love, you'll figure it out. If it doesn't happen at age 18 it'll happen at 22, and then 28, and then 34, and before you know it nothing ever happened. We hold onto these things out of some malapportioned hope that they will happen and justify an existence otherwise marked by mundanity and suffering and dread. But perhaps these things drive the suffering because we keep wanting, hoping, begging for them to happen only for them to never come true. Perhaps the sooner we let go of the impossibilities that we think will make life better - the desire to be someone we're not, the things we hold out for and let drive us mad because we can't reach them - the easier it is to accept that life, as currently constructed, will never be profound.

Normal Routine

I suppose it's not a revelation to learn, eventually, that the vast majority of one's existence is spent doing things one does not like. Early years are spent in school that few children enjoy or profess to liking, its concurrent homework and bullying and social strata inflicting wounds and causing anxiety to fester. Adulthood is filled with hours at a job who most people don't like; job dissatisfaction at record highs, everyone wanting more weekend, or vacation, or what have you. Even sleep, which many claim to like, is most often a memoryless respite that, in our lack of consciousness, feels much shorter than it is, such as that even if we did enjoy it, calling it a third of our day would seem inaccurate. So we spend our existence meandering from thing to thing we don't like, perhaps wondering, how, in our collective pursuit of values and construction of society, we let happiness become such a small, finite part of our day-to-day routine.

See What Sticks

A common verbal metaphor one might hear during their passage through life, in regards to what they should be doing with said life, is to "throw everything at the wall and see what sticks." This, thusly, describes the idea that one should attempt anything and everything in a vain effort to see what ends up being worth keeping with - or - what "sticks." This metaphor is most apt, however, in that it succinctly (albeit unintentionally) surmises the cold reality. Given enough time, gravity is inescapable, and anything that sticks will, sooner rather than later, come down. This applies, also, to one's attempt to find something worth pursuing - given a certain amount of time, said hobby, or interest, or pursuit, becomes unenjoyable and meaningless. It fails, in the end, to stick.

Uniqueness is a Lie

Many people seem to suggest that you might be well-served by not necessarily being the best at something, but simply offering a unique voice, perspective, or collection of talents. That by being something different, you can, indeed, stand out, and use this as a marketable skill. Given, however, that the present author is, as best can be surmised, the only human being completely lacking in any and all talent or skill of any or all kind, it becomes apparent that while being one-of-a-kind may help in some markets or respects, there is also a reality in which said one-of-a-kind trait is so immeasurably distasteful and meaningless, that it does nothing to present itself as worthwhile.

did the idea of wanting to be someone make you eventually want to disappear

Maybe you want to be wealthy, maybe famous, maybe critically acclaimed, maybe you want to save a school bus full of children, maybe you want to travel the world, maybe you want to tell your boss to "fuck off" one day, maybe you want to have a fulfilling and raunchy love life, maybe you just want a life, maybe, maybe, maybe, at some point you lose distinguishing between whether it's something you want, something you're expected to want, something you're programmed to want, something others want for you, it all blends together into unmitigated, unrelenting desire, of things that aren't and can't. Of being someone you won't and doing something you won't. It's funny how it morphs and readjusts itself as you age, your body seemingly inept to hold back the crumbling carapace it resides in but your mind constantly shifting goalposts; I'll do it age 20, then 30, then 40, and on, and on, maybe the desires change a bit but its all perfunctory dressing, just a whole host of gruesome, lonely people, looking for affirmation and love. Cleanup in aisle 8.