I have always been a firm believer that people give their own lives meaning. For some that’s money, some dedicate their lives to causes and others turn to religion. But there is always something there that guides them, distracts them from the inevitable end that happens to all of us whilst they try to prove to themselves that their existence isn’t meaningless. Unfortunately, there’s not really another way to word this belief to make it sounds less depressing – I personally find it almost liberating to see the construct of motivation for what it is. But it also does mean that when you go through tough times, you do start to question why any of it matters and if there is any point to any of it.
Living the life that I led up until a few months ago, I was a young professional in a good job with good career prospects working and living in central London. I had decent 9-6 hours and a strong passion for an exercise/past-time outside of work. I assumed the identity of someone who was within the system, a fully functional member of society bobbing along with the current. I was quite suddenly ejected from that life and even though I still have my group of friends and passion for my activity, I lost that identity of being a young London professional. It’s given me a lot of time to think about whether that is really what I want.
Since I left my old job, I’ve really struggled with mental health. Loneliness has never been something I cope well with and suddenly I found out how much I relied being around people for 36-40 hours a week at work. I find myself numb a lot of the time and apathetic. What a horrible place to be. And then it leaves you wondering. What is the point of any of it. All these rules and expectations you and the rest of society impose on yourself, is any of it worth it?