Nothing to do.
Nowhere to go to.
No one to be.
Nothing to talk about.
So many parts of me fell apart in the last few months. Dreams, goals, hopes, visions, plans, ideas, ideals, identities, achievements, preferences, rules to live by, random nuggets of wisdom. None of these were probably mine to begin with. They all seem so meaningless now.
Now I’m emerging at the other end of this process no wiser than I was before. If I found myself in that state again, I’m not sure if I’d be able to handle it any better than the last time.
My mind is blank like an empty page.
If I could take a gap year with no consequences, I have no idea what I would do in this time. If I had all the money in the world, I don’t know how I would spend my days. If I could be or do anything, I wouldn’t even know where to start.
For a while I was stuck in eternal now, certain that nothing would ever change and unable to dream. Now that I’m capable of dreaming again, I don’t even know what I want to dream about.
I have to make it all up from scratch again.
Luckily, I’ve had a taste of this before.
I know how it’s like to lose all meaning and purpose. I know this is a cycle, and every stage of it is equally important. Every time I emerged from a meaning crisis, I came back with better goals and plans and perceptions about the world.
This time felt different because the whole world is in crisis, but this is just background noise. A lot of people thrive in this pandemic, they start new projects, make new friends online, create amazing things together.
The real crisis, the one I’m personally responsible for, is all in my head.
I’ve been here before, and I have no fucking clue where’s the way out, but I know that sooner or later, I’m sure as hell to get there.