Back from the Brink (Notes On a New Optimism)

I find that blogging serves as a sort of synthesis, one in which I ask myself to evaluate my life and come up with a cohesive summation of where I am, what I'm doing, and where I'm going, drawing from the endless spectrum of variables, circumstances, elements, and general goings-on in my life that have brought me to this point.

For this particular blog (this being my, hopefully, return to a semi-routine lifestyle of bloggery) I draw from events over a year in the making. None of which I will go into detail about here, but if you would like to know more specifics, just ask, and I will tell. That's something that you may not know about me. People tend to see me as a closed book. And I am. But I would also remind you that to know the contents of a book, one has simply to work up sufficient curiosity to reach out and turn the cover.

Rather than beat a dead horse and recount the fact that I've had a terrible year, let it be enough to say that I have been at the bottom of the proverbial pit, the end of my rope, and faced with a very bad choice indeed. One which I never intend to entertain again. Several factors have swooped into my life that have pulled me back from the brink, the edge of whatever chasm upon which I stood. Not the least of these is a very close friend, and a small but vital piece of information that explained a lot of things (and which I wish I had known much, MUCH earlier).

Cryptic allusions aside, I know that many people around me are going through a similar trial, one that echoes my own. And so I write this.

I have never been a particularly cheery person, nor am I naturally optimistic, intrinsically bright-sided, or any other manner of glass-half-full disposition. That may be changing.

Not that things are really looking any better than they were. Bills are piling on. Work is scarce. Genuine friends are hard to come by. Even those you love can become an irritation or obstacle. It is not out of circumstances that this choice comes to me. It is out of necessity.

See, there comes a point, I believe, where one has to make a choice, a relatively permanent choice. Not a choice of how to live your life, but a choice on how to view your life. I am butchering what, to me, is a beautiful idea in my head.

Basically, what it comes down to is this: Choose one, hope or despair.

Those of you who have not walked the razor's edge of despair, I hope and pray you never have to. I have, and will again. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe not. But someday circumstances will bear down upon me once again. And I'll have to make the choice all over again.

For a long time, I have lived in despair. Not all of this is my fault. Some of it is inherited (that fact helps, but does not erase). I let it weigh on me for so long, I didn't know there was something different. And with age, maturity, experience, and reality, despair becomes like a multiplication of gravity, increasing exponentially, pressing me further and further into itself.

At the risk of making it sound like some corny resolve, some heroic effort to convince myself things will be otherwise, I have decided to no longer let this be the case.

Yes, bills are pressing in. But I have a job, and I have enough to pay them. Barely, but they get paid, in no small part because of the provision of God.

Yes, I still go home alone. To an empty room, to an empty part of the house. But I have friends. Good friends. Friends that may not say much, but I know I could count on them if I had to.

Yes, I am working a crappy, bad-hours, underpaid, manual-labor job. But I have work.

Yes, my dream of being a writer is unfulfilled. But I have time to write. My book is taking shape. I have found what one of my good friends recently wrote about in his blog: I found that about which I am most passionate, and I am pursuing it. Though no one else sees, comments, asks, or believes. And I believe it is just a matter of time.

Even if it is not, it's alright. I will save what little money I make, and I will put a down payment on a house. A quiet place. An old place. Perhaps a small place. Perhaps not the nicest. But it will be mine. And I will write. And I will keep in contact with those people most important to me. And I will commune with my savior. And perhaps I will find a woman who loves me, respects me, and is brave enough, cares enough, and understands enough to step into my little world and find my excuse for a heart. Because you know what? If a woman requires a huge house, a nice car, and money to burn in exchange for her hand in marriage, then she can keep that hand, for all I care. I will take care of my wife and cherish her with everything I have in me and at my disposal. But not because she requires it. I will do so because I require it of myself.

See, it's not about being optimistic for optimism's sake. It's about survival.

If I continued to wallow in despair, I would wither and fade and die. So I was wrong. It's not a choice. I have no choice. It's necessary. I refuse to be a man of such weak faith and fortitude as to let my circumstances dictate my future.

This will be the last post in reference to the past year. I resolve to leave it there.