Malaise

I’d love to say that it’s been an interesting summer, but the truth (at least for me), is that it’s been a fairly miserable summer. Before I sound like I’m going to throw a pity party for myself, I will fully admit that no great ill has befallen me. No natural disaster has rerouted the course of my life. In fact, the worst thing that I can say has happened to me is that “absolutely nothing” has happened.

Compared with those folks out in the real world who have been dealing with floods, tornadoes, oil spills, unemployment, wars and numerous other tragedies, my sad-sack whining is beyond pathetic. The realization of just how ridiculous it is to be burdened by nothing more than the microscopic weight of my own malaise is not just humbling, but more than a little bit humiliating.

I was tired coming into the summer. My travel schedule was heavier this year than ever, and there were added levels of stress related to that. I have always tried to follow a “work to live, not live to work” philosophy, but sometimes necessity becomes priority and your personal life doesn’t just get kicked into the back seat, but is wrapped in a tarp and thrown in the trunk.

Still, in these difficult economic times, I’m not going to complain about having a good job that just happens to keep me away from home more than I like. I understand that it’s not really the job but the way I handle things that cause me the most trouble. I am my own worst enemy.

For the last couple of years, one of the things that kept me busy and out of trouble was my relatively consistent scribbling in my blog. It didn’t really accomplish anything other than give me something to do and a way to vent, but that release valve was a crucial fulcrum in helping me balance the various stresses and weights I faced. I didn’t realize how much I needed it until I stopped writing a few months ago.

I’m not really sure why I stopped. My excuse was that my brain was fried from too much travel, and that was partially true. I was exhausted and mentally spent from one trip after another; smiling and pretending to care about whatever new, almost always pointless way that someone had come up with to spend our tax dollars. I had dreams where I grabbed some of them by the collar and screamed “No one cares about what you’re doing! Go get a real job!” Of course, they could have just as easily done the same thing to me and I would have had no justifiable response. We were both just cogs in the machinery.

I did attempt to write…sitting in my hotel room with the television muted and the cold air blowing full force to try and fight off the oppressive summer heat...but the words were disjointed and randomly bitter. I couldn’t find a through-line to hang my intentions on.

As summer draws to a close, I’m hoping that the falling leaves of autumn will give me a new spark. Maybe it was just the incessant rays of the sun that baked away my energy and castrated all signs of creativity. Or maybe I had one too many eggs and my mind is roiling from salmonella. It’s difficult to say.

Either way, I’m going to force myself to write until it spills out easily again. It might not be pretty, and I don’t count on anyone reading it, but that’s okay. This is much cheaper than therapy.