Sometimes, I feel like such an outlier, a stranger who processes the world differently from everybody around me, and this is one of those times.

I have–very thankfully–never experienced great chaos. But I have experienced stressful situations. I was once driving up a narrow, winding mountain road with a heavy volume of traffic when my car just stopped. In a moment, I pulled the emergency brake, managed to restart the car for long enough to pull off the road, and then called a tow truck, never panicking for a second.

In chaotic situations, I seem to have the ability to almost step out of myself, close down the responses that are not productive and find solutions as best I can. I find myself simply thinking, “This is where we are now, let’s get as fast as possible.” I am reminded of a quote I heard attributed to Peter Drucker (I have not confirmed this), “First, define reality. Then say, ‘Thank you.'”

Hello, everybody.

I have been occupied with work recently and have not had much chance to come here for reflection.

For those who have been following my story, my parents stayed with me for a month and left just over a week ago. Having them with me was comforting, but they both have issues with communication that makes connecting with them a major challenge.

I have also been trying to manage my partner’s needs with my own after a year of tumult. I experience anxiety–not necessarily clinical, and it is diminishing–and that makes enjoying and savoring the richness and fullness of life quite difficult. I am fully functional but often feel as though I am walking around in a state of shock, numb and scared.

Yesterday, I had a productive conversation with my partner that I think led to some new understanding. We have agreed to work together moving forward. I hope that that will come to fruition.

I have had some very positive experiences recently, and I would be remiss if I didn’t mention those. Seeing Aine’s post about comedy and television and the ensuing discussion was ironic because I have had a few chances to perform comedy recently, and it is one of the true joys that I have in life.

To give some background, I had always wanted to work in comedy and did actually work on a number of television comedies (nothing that anybody has heard of). For a variety of reasons, the experience was no t necessarily what I had hoped, and I have been dealing with what it means to leave that behind me.

While pursuing that, though, I started doing comedy shows at local theaters (living in Los Angeles, the local comedy theaters are also some of the best comedy theaters in the world). I made an amazing group of friends. When my mother came to visit, she noticed that the time I seemed most content was around my friends.

I have also been incredibly fortunate to be able to perform comedy. As I said, I take such joy in it. It is thrilling and also the time that I feel truly whole again.

I am reminded of a moment from my childhood. I think I was about 10 years old, and I was in the car with my mother. We were at a small intersection in my hometown, and another driver did something that aggravated my mother. I forget the details, but I remember her calling him a name.

I looked at the man in the car and thought that he has had an entire life leading up to that moment–a childhood, hopes, relationships, disappointments, frustrations–and that my mother had reduced him to an “idiot” or whatever name she called him.

That person helped me see that everybody has a story, everybody is the star of their own life. That is why so many people whom I have never met can help me in myriad ways without me being able to comprehend the depth of that notion.

I wanted to read others’ responses prior to answering because I am not necessarily clear that longing does enrich my life.

My first response to this question is to say that “longing”–to me–implies an incongruity between expectations and reality, a desire. I have been of the belief for a while that suffering is the result of this incongruity, and I see it both in myself and in those close to me. Instead, I have tried to work on grateful acceptance–that is, appreciating what is and accepting what is not. I could go on about this, but I think the most succinct way to express it is the line that Dr. Robert Puff closes each episode of his podcast: “Accept what is, love what is.”

As I think, though, I wonder if–perhaps–the suffering that I see in others is slightly different. I won’t say who, but somebody very close to me has expressed many times a deep dissatisfaction with their life. Not that one thing in particular was wrong, not losing weight or changing jobs or having more money or being in a relationship, just that life wasn’t fulfilling for them on a fundamental level.

For years, I pursued a particular career path, usually working hours every week in addition to my full-time job. I certainly became frustrated and discouraged at times, but–to me–those emotions still imply having some hope, some longing, some desire. Along with that came me imagining a better future, thinking about what was to come, my career taking off and what I would accomplish.

Recently, for a variety of reasons, I have found myself in a different place, feeling directionless. This, to me, has been far more depressing and scarier than anything I went through before. Recently, the instructor of a class I am taking said (I’m paraphrasing from memory), “Show me a man who thinks about the past, and I’ll show you a man who is depressed.”

It’s not that I’m necessarily thinking about the past now, but I’m not really thinking about the future, and–when I do–it feels vast and scary. I wonder if the longing I had before was giving me the motivation to move forward toward something and if that is the suffering I see in others.

Below is something that I wrote a few months ago after the passing of a friend. (For reference, I am in my 30’s.)

Very little makes sense to me these days. But I was thinking about that Woody Allen quote, “Showing up is 80 percent of life.”

Almost a decade ago, I was trying to get a job writing on a TV show, and a writer for that show was doing improv at iO West. I decided to go in the hopes that I could make some connection with this writer and help my chances of getting the job. (If this all sounds like a ridiculous, disgusting way to get a job, you have not worked in entertainment.)

After the show, I waited in the bar for about 20 minutes trying to find a way to talk to this writer when a 70-something man walked up and asked me what I was doing there, not talking to anybody. I explained, and he offered to introduce me to this writer. I asked if he knew the writer, and he said no, but he introduced me anyway.

That was Herb, and he came to iO almost every time that I was there. I got to know him, not terribly well, but when he had heart surgery, I went to a dinner for him, and I went to his birthday parties. One night, I saw him and said that my partner was out of town. The next day, he called and asked me if I wanted to go to see Tony Bennett at the Hollywood Bowl. He had a friend who worked there and got him free tickets. He always invited people from iO with the caveat that you had to drive and help him walk up the hill.

He had worked all his life as a travel guide and was traveling in Italy when he passed away this month. I am glad that he always showed up and that I showed up to meet him.

Hello,

I would like to share my gratitude for today, but first, I have some explaining to do.

Ten years ago–almost to the day–I moved to Southern California for work. It was a big, scary step, but I was at a point in my life and career that I could do it and thought that it would be beneficial. Later that year, my partner came to join me.

So much has happened in the ensuing 10 years. For one thing, I developed a life here, a community, and I fell in love with a lot about the city where I live. Career-wise, things have changed, and I ended up in a place I wasn’t expecting.

One issue in all this time has been my parents. I am an only child, and they are getting to a point that they need to reconsider their living situation and perhaps a long-term care solution. This is stressful for me because I do feel an obligation to be near them, but that would require at least one of us to make a big move–me now in mid-life or them in late-life. Adding to the stress, my mother has a lot of defense mechanisms that make an open conversation difficult to say the least. (For example, she will not fly in an airplane. I don’t know why because she has never explicitly told me that she will not fly or even hinted at it. Instead, whenever the topic of travel comes up, she expects me to fly or comes up with a justification for driving or taking a train. As a result, she has only come to visit me five times in the 10 years since I moved. Each time, she has driven 3,000 miles each way. But she still will not say that she does not want to fly.)

In late 2016, I had a personal crisis of sorts. At the time, I was in a work situation that was toxic and unstable. I was also dealing with some tension in my marriage, and we had started to look at buying a house. I was also still negotiating the situation with my parents. Finally–for a variety of reasons–I reached a breaking point and suddenly began to experience an incredible anxiety and insecurity, something like I’ve never felt before.

I was open with the people in my life about what was going on, though I was in the midst of processing it myself. One thing that people asked me was what I was afraid of. At the time, my fears were around issues like money and housing. These fears were, by the way, not completely unfounded, but they were still fears—the anticipation of something bad to come. Nothing “bad” had actually happened.

I ended up buying a house, much more quickly than I expected. I thought that I should feel happy, but I was incredibly anxious the entire time. Then, the month after we moved into our new house, I was laid off from work very unexpectedly (I won’t go into any detail about that situation, but—as I said—it was both toxic and unstable). Now I had reason to be afraid. I had just taken on a mortgage and was out of work.

I threw myself into looking for work and actually only went a week before I had a freelance job. By the time my severance had run out, I was already temping full-time and had just accepted a new salaried job in a much more positive environment. Overall, not bad but still scary.

With the employment and housing situations stabilized, my anxiety continued but started to center on something else: climate change. This has been a concern of mine for decades, but the fear that I experienced was new and—again—not unfounded. Southern California experienced record heatwaves, and we ended the year with massive wildfires. Luckily my house was not close enough to the fire to be affected, but one of my favorite places in the world—Ventura—was, badly. And the photo below is of the road both my partner and I travel into work each day. My partner did not take that photo but was on the road at that time.

Each day that the heat continued became grueling for me. I love being outdoors but stepping into the hot air became an assault. I had catastrophic visions of this perpetuating—a burnt-up, dried out, barren, charred wasteland for the rest of time.

I had difficulty talking about it. Nobody else quite seemed to understand. Hearing people idly discussing the weather made me depressed, especially their blasé attitudes. I expressed my concerns, and people close to me tried to comfort me by saying that it wasn’t a completely lost cause, that the weather would cool off eventually. But it dragged on. Thanksgiving was the hottest in 140 years.

My parents came to stay at my new house for the holidays and have been there since (about three weeks and counting now). Having them there can be frustrating because I can become frustrated with them, and I have to manage my partner’s needs as well. But I have also come to take solace in their presence. I am not sure why, but my fear seems to have eased.

This week, we also had a heavy rain storm followed by cool weather. I know that many people are dealing with below freezing temperatures right now and might not want to hear somebody praise the cold, but stepping outside this week has been a joy for me. I savor the crisp air and chance to talk long walks.

I want to take this chance to appreciate it, to acknowledge its beauty and bounty while I can. I am struggling with this, though. I am still scared, scared that I will lose this moment that I love. It’s paradoxical. My fear of losing what is right now diminishes my ability to be present and love what is right now.

Perhaps sharing my gratitude will help. Thank you for reading.

I am pretty conscientious about planning and preparing my food.

I buy almost all of my produce from a farmers’ market and even make sure to buy from the growers who are located closest to me. I grow my own herbs, which I find very gratifying. I make items like seltzer water, peanut butter, and vegetable broth rather than buying them. I plan meals to avoid any food waste.

I don’t know that I experience my meals more differently, however. I know people who say a little prayer before eating, and I admire this very much, but I have never remembered to do it consistently. I know that this is a tenant of gratitude and mindfulness, but I have always struggled with it personally.

I have been experiencing some similar transitions and questions in my own life recently (similar emotionally, that is, I’m still far from retirement).

One resource that I have found helpful is The Happiness Podcast (which is, of course, a podcast and not a book). I am also reminded of a passage from Rilke’s letters to a young poet:

“Have patience with everything unresolved in your heart and to try to love the questions themselves as if they were locked rooms or books written in a very foreign language. Don’t search for the answers, which could not be given to you now, because you would not be able to live them. And the point is, to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps then, someday far in the future, you will gradually, without even noticing it, live your way into the answer. Perhaps you do carry within you the possibility of creating and forming, as an especially blessed and pure way of living; train yourself for that but take whatever comes, with great trust, and as long as it comes out of your will, out of some need of your innermost self, then take it upon yourself, and don’t hate anything.”

Thank you for sharing.

Your response reminds me of some issues I am having myself. If I could expound–and please feel free to ignore me if anything I say feels untrue or touches a nerve–committing to share your life with another person is, in its nature, a process. People evolve and change (or don’t) in different ways at different rates. So their needs may not always be synchronous or complementary to what their partners have to offer.

Your willingness to open your heart and make an effort to meet your wife’s needs is very noble. You are challenging yourself to think beyond your own perspective, which I have come to believe is next to impossible for many people (at least many people in my family). Don’t forget that you have needs as well and open your heart to yourself.

Many years ago, I worked with a good friend who has studied Buddhism, and I remember his frustration when he received contradictory instructions because–as he explained–humans’ brains naturally look for logical patterns. Perhaps you are experiencing a similar frustration trying to understand the way that your wife’s experiences have shaped her emotions. Perhaps you are looking for a pattern but not finding one or not seeing the logic in the one you do find. If that is causing frustration, moving past that will take work on your part. You sound as though you are prepared to undertake that work, and I applaud that. But it is work, and that can be both difficult and tiring.

Thank you for sharing your experience. I have been immensely lucky thus far in my life and have not experienced either first or second hand issue like you’ve described.

I have, however, observed that our society (I live in the U.S., I don’t know about you) is not structured to accommodate those with severe, long-term disabilities. I have also considered how inherently ableist a lot of “positive thinking” trends can be. There is a mural where I live with a quote attributed to Abraham Lincoln: “Most people are as happy as they make up their minds to be.”

That’s a very comfortable perspective when your basic needs are met and you have the ability to control your emotions that facilely.

I am sorry that this site was not beneficial for you. I would attempt to offer some insights, but I don’t want to preach to or chastise you. Perhaps you will choose to return and find something here that you didn’t before. Either way, I wish you peace and solace.

I listened to an interview with Brian McLaren recently, and he talked about asking, “What is mine to do now?”

I regularly dedicate about 10 hours a month to direct service, in addition to working at a nonprofit and doing a variety of other things that I think are of service in different ways. Yet I sometimes get dragged down by the idea that I am not doing *enough*. That idea of doing what is mine to do now helps me then.

I recently read something by Joanna Macy and Chris Johnstone that puts the question into a nice perspective. Think of a photo printed in the newspaper. Up close, it’s a lot of little dots. It only becomes a picture when you look at it from a macro level. You are doing your part, and others are doing theirs. Up close, it might seem like a single dot, but–taking a step back–you can see the effort on a grand scale.

I like this sentiment a lot.

I told a story last month about a vision I had had of a very naive, guileless version of myself and how it spurred me toward empathy.

Similarly, I remember one story that my partner told me about a time in their childhood, a birthday party that they had. I don’t want to share somebody else’s story, but it always brings a little tear to my eye. When I’m frustrated with them for some reason, I remember that story and soften my approach.