Tuesday, 3 December 2013 at 11:45 AM *[14 Noble Ave, Yonkers, NY, United States](https://www.google.com/maps/search/?api=1&query=14+Noble+Ave,+Yonkers,+NY,+United+States&map_action=map&basemap=satellite)* # Lenses Tonight, I'm going to talk about the distorted lenses through which I see the world. It already feels like so much navel-gazing, but what's a weblog for if not the airing of personal, introspective observation? The lenses have been given different names by different people, but I don't know that I've ever spoken at length about them. First, I'll address my average daily experience of the world. Constantly, I feel like I should be doing something that I'm not, but without any clear idea of what that thing I should be doing looks like. It's just a general feeling of unease, unsettlement, like I'm wasting time. This feeling persists regardless of my state of activity or inactivity. I start the day not really knowing what to do with myself, so I fulfill my obligations like eating, cleaning, working, as the case may be. I'm not very engaged in any of these, they're simply duties. I spend a lot of time reading articles online or browsing through Internet posting boards, occupying myself until I feel like doing something else, but I rarely do. Eventually, I'll acquiesce to writing something, or practicing drawing, or fiddling around with something musical, but even those are a fulfillment of some past commitment I made to myself to learn to draw, or write a book, or some other such obligation. But that's all it is, I act from a sense of obligation to something I or someone else has set before me. There's very little that I want to do, and most of the things I end up doing take place within the confines of my house. I get the impression that other people want things from life, that they have specific things they want to do, if not today, then someday, but my experience is not like that. I don't have wants. I stay inside, at home, because I don't know where I would go outside. You would think with all of New York City at my doorstep that I would be more inspired to walk out the door, but I usually talk myself out of activities on the basis of their presumed expense. For some reason, I assume anything fun is going to cost more money than it's worth, and I don't know what I consider “fun” anymore anyway. Why finances appear to be such a concern for me is a mystery; I don't have much in savings as it is, and the things I spend money on are periodic investments in technology, the value of which I will eventually have to question seriously. The real issue is that latter part, the fact that I don't have any real interest in anything. There are things that interest me, sure, but not to the extent that I feel compelled to pursue them. [[20210407-N1 Zen preaches detachment as a path to enriched existence|Zen preaches detachment as a path to enriched existence]], but I do not think this is what Zen has in mind. If so, it is a very solitary, very empty life. In an effort to rekindle some spark or some passion, I'll reflect on past experiences when I know I was more engaged with the world. I'll dig through photo archives, or indulge in memory, but every recollection is tarnished with the understanding that I should have done things differently. My graduation is a perfect example. In every picture from the event, I see myself distant from my family, when it's the first time they'd gotten to spend any real time with me since I went away to school. I remember foolishly trying to get my family and my college friends to socialize with each other, completely blinded to the fact that the only thing they had in common was me, and so it was my responsibility to make sure they were getting along. Even the pictures I have of me with friends and girlfriends fill me with remorse about how little I took advantage of the opportunity to enjoy their company. So much time, wasted. I have nothing to show for my time on this earth, though I've spent a quarter of a century with ample opportunities to do something of value, something worthwhile. I would just as soon not have those reminders of the past, but sometimes I wish I had some token of memorabilia that is forever lost because I, in the past, decided to be unsentimental and dispose of it. Now, I try to delete as little as possible, out of fear that I will someday miss what I've gotten rid of. A word about loss: I am in a near-constant state of mourning for the absence of friends and family members who have not actually departed yet. Consistently, I mentally address what my life would look like if a friend moved away or died, and prepare myself for that inevitability. This is probably related to my inability to create or sustain friendships. Even now, there are friends I haven't spoken to in weeks, simply because I've already accepted their deaths, even though they are most decidedly alive and well out there, doing just fine. Sometimes I feel like I should reach out to them, but that would only remind them of how long it's been since I made an effort to be with them, and I still can't imagine what value they derive from my company. I'm not inclined to date or make friends, because I know those relationships will end, so ultimately, what's the point? "What's the point?" is a surprisingly persistent question on my mind, it applies to my writing (what's the point? It's never going to get published, and if it does, it will never be appreciated by anyone but a select few), my drawing (what's the point? I'm never even going to approach the skill of my sister, much less any of the literally thousands of exquisite artists throughout history), my work (what's the point? I've reached a ceiling, and there is nowhere else to go. Starting over in another line of work would yield the same result.) A change of perspective is needed. My old college mentor recommended trying as many different things as possible to discover what excited me, but I haven't made any progress on that front yet. I've never even been outside the country, but I don't know where I would go if I did. Every place is wonderful, every country has something beautiful to offer (thank God I can still appreciate beauty) so how would I even choose a destination? Once I did, how would I afford to get there? Where would I work, where would I live? I see people all across the internet who spend their entire lives traveling, but they have lucrative writing or photography professions to finance their lifestyle, and I have neither of these. So what I end up being is alone, adrift, purposeless. I persist, not out of love for life and its offerings, but out of a sense of duty and responsibility toward living. I want to want something, to be excited or impassioned about something. I want to work tirelessly toward some objective, some purpose that can give my life more meaning than simply having been lived. My conclusion is that my experience is abnormal, or at least unhealthy. If not unhealthy, then at least not conducive to happiness. I have to imagine other people do not feel this way, that other people are generally happy, or in some way impassioned about something. I want that feeling for myself. --- Tuesday, December 03, 2013 in [Day One](dayone://open?date=2013-12-03) #dailynote ```query file:20131203 ```