Q
quillini
Guest
August is the loneliest month.
The same has more famously been said of December and February, with good reason. It is burdensome to be lonely during times when family and human closeness are celebrated. But this will be the first August in seven years during which I will be completely alone. Chance timing of an on-off long-term relationship has ensured this to be the case; I have spent all the other months of the year alone at least once, but August was always spared. Not this time, though, and somehow it is only now that reality occurs to me: all the ways I had defined myself in the past are gone, and the choice I must now make is whether to press on or give up. But to press on with no motivation is absurd. Where does one find the will to live, struggle, and overcome?
Last fall, when I was beginning to realize my relationship situation was unsalvageable, I was plunged into a dark world of doubt and pain. I was frustrated, confused, and angry about the whole mess, and hadn’t a soul in the world to share my thoughts with. Here I was at a mediocre school, working towards an unmarketable degree in history, and I couldn’t help but laugh at the fact that I was only there because I had followed my ex there. All the meaning in everything I had done academically was suddenly stripped away. Eddie Vedder had a song out about the same time in which he sang “my dreams suddenly seem so empty / I could go out on my own but I feel like playing dead”. It’s called “Goodbye” and it’s beautiful, and it’s an almost perfect portrayal of how I felt. I didn’t know what to do.
Don Herold once said “unhappiness is not knowing what we want and killing ourselves to get it.” Being alone as I was, I figured I was doing myself no favors by dwelling on my misery. If there’s an upside to the situation, I thought, I **** well better find it, because there’s nothing preventing my state of mind from perpetuating itself indefinitely, and there’s no one in the world that cares about my emotional well-being except me. It was obvious that my unhappiness was tied to a thousand lies I was telling myself, so I began to scrutinize every negative thought that came to me, asking myself “why do I believe this? What evidence do I have that this is true?”
I arrived at the conclusion that I was unhappy because I had no goals. When I was in a relationship, my goal was to marry my fiancée, settle down, and start a life with her. The mental image of that motivated me to endure two years working as an insurance agent and another three years working towards a college degree. I didn’t love the work, but I loved her, and that’s what made the work worth it.
So there I was, for the first time in my life, living for myself only. I had until then always worked toward the fulfillment of someone else’s goals, be it schoolwork to satisfy by parents’ narcissism, or a bullshit job and more schoolwork to satisfy my girlfriend’s material needs. And despite all that, I never gained my parents’ approval and my girlfriend left me anyway. So what the f*ck?
I will only be happy if I fully engage myself in something I love, and I love music. So here’s my goal, and I will not rest until it is attained: I want to write and/or play and/or produce music and live comfortably off of the proceeds from it. I got my ass on the internet and found a college that offers an attractive music program in an urban setting. I applied to the college, got accepted, arranged for financial aid, visited their open house, and just yesterday I got back from orientation. On 24 August I am moving away from this place to start a new life doing something I love, refining my talents to make them marketable, and with any luck I will, in a few years’ time, have attained this goal I set for myself, or I will have died trying.
I guess my point is, Don Herold was right. I have a lot of hard work ahead of me, but there’s a point to it. Everything I do now is a means to that end. If there is such a thing as sin, then it would be anything that might distract or detract from the progress I have already made. Right now, however, are the lonely times. There is no reason to expect that I might have any friends or romantic relationships between now and when I go to school, but I am at peace with that because I know this time of loneliness is finite. To keep myself sane I must distract myself from my loneliness for the time being by playing guitar, watching comedy shows, and writing things like this.
For these twenty days I must wait and cope. I am lonely as all hell, but make no mistake, I am happier than I ever was when I was engaged, because I have managed to load these next few months with opportunities and possibilities for myself. For once in my life, I have a future.
The same has more famously been said of December and February, with good reason. It is burdensome to be lonely during times when family and human closeness are celebrated. But this will be the first August in seven years during which I will be completely alone. Chance timing of an on-off long-term relationship has ensured this to be the case; I have spent all the other months of the year alone at least once, but August was always spared. Not this time, though, and somehow it is only now that reality occurs to me: all the ways I had defined myself in the past are gone, and the choice I must now make is whether to press on or give up. But to press on with no motivation is absurd. Where does one find the will to live, struggle, and overcome?
Last fall, when I was beginning to realize my relationship situation was unsalvageable, I was plunged into a dark world of doubt and pain. I was frustrated, confused, and angry about the whole mess, and hadn’t a soul in the world to share my thoughts with. Here I was at a mediocre school, working towards an unmarketable degree in history, and I couldn’t help but laugh at the fact that I was only there because I had followed my ex there. All the meaning in everything I had done academically was suddenly stripped away. Eddie Vedder had a song out about the same time in which he sang “my dreams suddenly seem so empty / I could go out on my own but I feel like playing dead”. It’s called “Goodbye” and it’s beautiful, and it’s an almost perfect portrayal of how I felt. I didn’t know what to do.
Don Herold once said “unhappiness is not knowing what we want and killing ourselves to get it.” Being alone as I was, I figured I was doing myself no favors by dwelling on my misery. If there’s an upside to the situation, I thought, I **** well better find it, because there’s nothing preventing my state of mind from perpetuating itself indefinitely, and there’s no one in the world that cares about my emotional well-being except me. It was obvious that my unhappiness was tied to a thousand lies I was telling myself, so I began to scrutinize every negative thought that came to me, asking myself “why do I believe this? What evidence do I have that this is true?”
I arrived at the conclusion that I was unhappy because I had no goals. When I was in a relationship, my goal was to marry my fiancée, settle down, and start a life with her. The mental image of that motivated me to endure two years working as an insurance agent and another three years working towards a college degree. I didn’t love the work, but I loved her, and that’s what made the work worth it.
So there I was, for the first time in my life, living for myself only. I had until then always worked toward the fulfillment of someone else’s goals, be it schoolwork to satisfy by parents’ narcissism, or a bullshit job and more schoolwork to satisfy my girlfriend’s material needs. And despite all that, I never gained my parents’ approval and my girlfriend left me anyway. So what the f*ck?
I will only be happy if I fully engage myself in something I love, and I love music. So here’s my goal, and I will not rest until it is attained: I want to write and/or play and/or produce music and live comfortably off of the proceeds from it. I got my ass on the internet and found a college that offers an attractive music program in an urban setting. I applied to the college, got accepted, arranged for financial aid, visited their open house, and just yesterday I got back from orientation. On 24 August I am moving away from this place to start a new life doing something I love, refining my talents to make them marketable, and with any luck I will, in a few years’ time, have attained this goal I set for myself, or I will have died trying.
I guess my point is, Don Herold was right. I have a lot of hard work ahead of me, but there’s a point to it. Everything I do now is a means to that end. If there is such a thing as sin, then it would be anything that might distract or detract from the progress I have already made. Right now, however, are the lonely times. There is no reason to expect that I might have any friends or romantic relationships between now and when I go to school, but I am at peace with that because I know this time of loneliness is finite. To keep myself sane I must distract myself from my loneliness for the time being by playing guitar, watching comedy shows, and writing things like this.
For these twenty days I must wait and cope. I am lonely as all hell, but make no mistake, I am happier than I ever was when I was engaged, because I have managed to load these next few months with opportunities and possibilities for myself. For once in my life, I have a future.
