It all started out with so much promise. All the makings of an exceptional story were in place. I had the opening line and the events that would lead me to a story unlike anything that had been told before, but somewhere along the way I got lost.
I can pinpoint certain adventures that I could have had, but missed out on, for whatever reason, but those specific moments can’t explain how I got where I am today. Everything in my life, until recently, were the stuff that grand adventures are made of. Those missed opportunities can’t account for the life I lead now – mostly solitary, rather lonely, unremarkable.
I’ve made no lasting mark on the world. I’ve had my moments of internet infamy and possibly, in dribs and drabs, my 15 minutes of so-called fame, but, at 33 years old, I can’t help but feel that I should have done more by now… that I should have done something noteworthy.
I never wanted to be famous. Fame is a sucker’s game and, for most, just leads to hardship. Not that I’m afraid of hardship, I can’t be, having experienced so much so far.
My mother always told me that I could do anything I wanted with my life. I believed her and my childhood dreams of the future were grandiose. I would be the first female president of the United States; I would be an attorney trying cases before the supreme court; I would be an actress, making movies of great social and political import; I would be an activist. I am none of those things today and I don’t think I would want any of them.
My early life was rich with adventures and characters, the like of which I will never experience again. No, that’s not right. My entire life until recently has been rich with adventures and characters. Even a simple bus ride would lead me to an exceptional story, prompting cries of “Oh, come on, I don’t believe that.” The better people get to know me, the less likely they are to disbelieve, since most of them have experienced some of the bizarre stories that accumulate in my life.
Recently, though, all that changed. No matter where I went or what I did, nothing happened. I know, for most people, this would be no big deal, no change to their daily routine, but for me, it’s disturbing. Simple things like the erratic behavior of mostly even-tempered cats keeps me hopeful that maybe, just maybe, I haven’t lost my life in interesting times, but the longer I go without a good story, the more I worry about it.
I used to write all the time. If it wasn’t the blog it was stories or poetry or songs or letters or something. I don’t do that anymore. I don’t have much to say. I used to have adventures, but now I go to the same familiar places and do the same familiar things. Almost to the point where I’m no longer interested in many of them.
It doesn’t feel like depression. I’ve been there before and this isn’t the same thing. I think that, somewhere along the line, I’ve become unremarkable.
To me, that’s the worst thing that could happen. The idea that “you are unique, just like everyone else” is one of the saddest things I’ve ever heard. Some people are amazing and create or explain or impart or somehow stand out in a crowd. I know I used to be one of those people, but I don’t know if I am anymore.
Maybe it’s just a hiatus, but I work my job, day in and day out. I do as much as I can, but there’s never enough work to really keep me busy. I cook dinner for my teenage son when he’s home and we fight about stupid things that teenagers and their parents fight about. I see movies with friends, I play poker from time to time, I visit my family, I take pills to manage my medical condition and visit doctors as needed. That’s it. That’s my life right there.
Now I know that I pledged to focus on my health this year, but somehow that’s come to mean that there’s nothing else going on. My adventures are gone… I don’t meet new people except those at medical facilities, which doesn’t count.
Something is missing. The element of the unknown, perhaps, or maybe it’s something I’m doing wrong, or not doing anymore, or… I don’t know. I think, if I knew, it wouldn’t be missing anymore.
I spent most of last year and some of the previous years feeling broken, and I was. I don’t feel like I can use that word anymore to describe how I feel. That broken feeling is gone and this is something different.
I feel unremarkable. And I don’t think I’ve ever felt this way before. I’ve always felt like I was someone exceptional, someone who was a good person to know. I was the person who almost always had a joke, who always had “a story to tell you”, who could find an adventure in anything at all.
I don’t know where all of that went, but right now it’s lost.
I wish I knew how to get it back.
