I’m good at reading about life from a distance. Making a living is where my trouble lies.
Do I find a job around my passion—namely, reading and writing—or do I hold a job and pursue my passion for words on the side? For a number of years now, because of my anxiety and depression, I’ve been unable to work consistently, thus delaying a move in either direction.
I’m still searching for that courage the characters in my books exhibit with such grace. It’s easy to share their outlooks, their suffering, their encounters with tragedy and triumph. But facing the indifference of the universe and pressing on—inventing my life and living without excuses—these are challenges I feel compelled to abandon before the starting bell sounds.
Figuring out my place and dealing with my illness is work enough now, but it’s time to emphasize practice over theory. Be realistic, I tell myself, recalling a Roman proverb I found in one of my philosophy books not long ago: “First live, then philosophize.”
Somehow I’ve approached things backwards. I continue the struggle to turn my life around.