Disposability

It is hard to describe the hollowness that comes from things. After a year of saying I love you too, it doesn't diminish the meaning of the world, but it certainly doesn't carry the same weight. Don't get me wrong, this is not a post lamenting the diminishment of NRE (New Relationship Energy), but given the crazyness that was the mid-late March, things now have calmed down and returned to a nice normal level. A level, I find to be quite hollow and without substance.

A great part of me wants to attribute this to the unfulfilled aspects of my life. Not that I don't have goals, both long and short, but, it all just seems so meaningless and arbitrary. I'm learning French because I want to, and while I' can find enjoyment in that, it is a shallow one. It exists because I want it to, and not at all within itself.

What does one strive for when one's needs and pains are remedied. These goals are nice, but, feel arbitrary and self imposed (likely as they are). Commendable, sure, but I can't take them to the bank, so to speak.

Why do I feel so, pointless in my endeavors? I have friends, great friends. I have a lovely partner, but, at the end of the day when everyone is asleep, I still lie awake at night with longing for something greater.

I...understand..that these dreams of grandeur, are likely the last grasps of the dieing breath of my hopes for a better life. I'm not sure what to think of that sentiment. Part of it seems realistic, and the childish remnants sees it as fatalstic romance. That last bead that if I would only strive for and put my entire energy towards, could make work into some sort of epiphany of a dream for a one way ticket into a better life/higher class/fantasy land.

All my life I've made pragmatic choices. It's a side effect of being given a shit predisposition of choices in life. When all your options are shit, you tend to become realistic, and play for what you can achieve. Having dreams is a side quest to pain, disappointment, and a quick slap in the face from the realities of the world. Now that my pragmatism has played out as it can, I'm out of realistic options, as it were. Everything is my life is, satisfactory. Not fantastic, not great, but acceptable.

The question then, is where do I go from here. Do I accept the realistic options of mediocrity that is my life as is? As, difficult as it might seem, there is solidarity in accepting the fatalism that is the majority of us. Most people go through their lives with unfulfilled desires, knowing that they can't achieve what the want. It seems, at least, progressive and mature to accept that I am as most are, and mediocre at best. That, jives, so to speak, with my mentality.

The, downside, of course, is the sheer depression and sadness that comes with knowing how futile, pointless, and meaningless your life has come to summarize in the vast expanse that is the time you've spent on this planet. Life, is an extravagantly, and a fantastically expensive long time. Most of which is spent doing vast quantities of unremarkable task for no reason. Leading one to question what the point is, if not for something fantastic.

Which all points to the issues of cognitive dissonance. A person has to maintain two separate countering ideas, while attempting to balance the two, or at least, remain ignorant of one. In the one, that life has to worth something, else it isn't worth anything. In the other, the realistic notion that there are seven billion people in the world, half of which are infinitely more qualified to be worth more than you at any given task (statistically).

So does one accept ones own mediocrity, or does one strive for what one will inevitably likely never achieve (at least, by my age standards)? If one opts to accept, how does one then rationalize that depressing, and truthful fact of self-obsolescence.