Actually, it’s day two of 365, so I’m already behind.

Typical of me these days.

It’s a New Year.  I wish I could see it with Calvin’s undying imagination and optimism.  Maybe I’m wishing for a simpler time.  When life really was as simple as getting on your sled and having an adventure with you best friend–real, stuffed, or imaginary.  Maybe I’m wishing I knew what that felt like.  I don’t think I was ever a kid.  I don’t think I ever really played and imagined and saw the world in unending possibility.

I might have to ask my mom about that one.

I feel like I’ve always seen the world in an absolute way, in the light and shade of the teaching and molding of adults and authority around me.  My parents said “this” is right, so it must be.  My teacher said “this” is true, so I believed them.  It didn’t occur to me to imagine or play outside of those confines.

I’m not knocking absolute truth.  I believe that there is a place for absolute truths in this world.  This is a commentary on my psyche and thought process.   Maybe it’s why, as I close in quickly on 40, I’m itching.  I’m itching to stretch, to grow.  To shed this skin that confines me.

Did I just use myself in a reptilian analogy?  I generally detest them; I must be desperate.

Truth be told, I’m struggling.  I feel like I’m nearly middle aged and have nothing to show for it.  I have fleeting moments of happiness, things that make me happy, but no real joy.  I find myself wondering if this is as good as it gets?  Is this going to be my life?  Counting time until God says it’s the end?

Have I been treading water until my real life begins?  You know; the husband, the kids, the white picket fence?  The sensible, appropriate life that I was told to expect?  Because I can’t possibly be fulfilled any other way.  Everyone says so.  If not in word, then in the way that they relate to me.  In the way that they ask me what I’m doing these days and then ask, “Not seeing anyone?” as if they won’t believe my life is good enough until they hear that I am.

That infuriates me, but how can I be mad at them?  Deep inside, in the places that I don’t want to examine too much, I believe them.  I must.  why else would I feel empty and feel like I’ve failed at life?  That its somehow my fault that I’ve been left out?

I feel like I’ve failed at my job.  It doesn’t look that way to others.  My co-workers and family ask how many other people I know have been trusted with the management and development of two departments without purposely pursuing a management track?  That’s amazing!  I guess.  I think I enjoy it…it feels natural…but it takes a lot out of me, too.  I see the gray starting to creep into my hair.  I can feel the mental and physical exhaustion at the end of the day.  It doesn’t make me feel alive; it doesn’t feel good.  I don’t leave feeling like I’ve accomplished a good day’s work.  I usually think of all the ways I’ve failed and how they are likely going to come back to bite me tomorrow, making it harder than today.  Is it worth it?  Does it really make me happy?  Make me feel like I have purpose in this life?

Maybe that’s what I’m missing; purpose.

It’s raining today.  The sky is gloomy, and it’s the kind of day that makes you want to crawl back under the covers and go to sleep.  Kind of like my mood.

Rain isn’t always gloom and doom, though.  It’s nourishing; restorative.  That’s what I’m longing for.  Nourishment.  Restoration.  Where do I find it?

In 2017, I hope to find out.