Futility

Futility. That’s what it’s all about. Nothing will gain you happiness. Nothing. Not being a parent. Not having that perfect special lover. Not getting that special job. Not getting that raise. Not getting that promotion. Not learning to sing. Not earning that new degree. Not taking up that new spiritual practice. Not wandering a foreign country for four months. Not walking on fire. Not learning that new language. Not getting that big house. Not living on the waterfront. Nothing.

I know whereof I speak. I’ve done it all. Well, all except that new degree thing, and I’m rethinking that in light of this. Nothing has brought me happiness.

I’m fundamentally not happy and I’m still me. I think these two things are directly related. I think I took on a lot of these things not just to be happy, but to alter who I am so I could be acceptable to myself. Guess what? It didn’t happen. I’m still just as critical of myself as ever.

So, what is the key? How do I learn to accept myself? I honestly don’t know. I do know that I’m exhausting myself by all the reaching and grasping and “growing”. Fuck all that. I really hope I’m done with that.

Perhaps now that I know nothing will make me happy, I can focus on getting to know who I am, exactly the way I am, without judgment. I think that’s my only hope.