It’s Monday morning. It’s gray. Even though it’s only mid-May, I might be getting a taste of San Francisco’s famous June gloom. The fog, Karl, has made his presence felt these past few days. On Saturday, on a ferry ride from Tiburon, the fog could be seen pouring over the hills on Angel Island. It looked like a waterfall of clouds.
Last night, I went for a late-night stroll. I was hoping to catch a glimpse of the norther lights. The fog and cloud cover was too thick and the light pollution was too bright for me to really see anything. There was a faint pinkish hue to the north. It wasn’t dramatic enough for me to be certain that I was seeing something special.
Walking around at night felt nice. It felt nice and different in the “why don’t I do this more often?” sort of way. There was a crisp breeze that reminded me of cool summer nights at the shore when the temperatures dropped. The streets were empty. The restaurants and shops had long been closed. I paused at a framing shop to look at their window display of graphic arts posters featuring SF landmarks. I felt like I had the entire city to myself.
When I scrolled my phone this morning (still in bed), I was hit with a minor bout of existential dread. I had seen the email from the literary journal that sends me a poem every day. Another day, another poem. My first thought was why does anyone even bother. The whole concept of how we go about life felt mildly absurd: work, writing, hobbies, walking around and pretending any of this is important. Ridiculous.
I checked the messages on the dating app. There are a few people I was supposed to meet up with this week, but we’ve had to re-schedule. Yesterday, for the first time (I think ever), I put a coffee date on my google calendar. Doing so felt overly business-like. It’s not that my social life is busy or that I have that many dates lined up… I was putting other events on my calendar (volunteering next week, a concert on Saturday, a race on Sunday, a block party at the end of the month…). And that’s when it hit me that I don’t want my dating life to be something I pencil into my calendar two weeks in advance and only if I don’t have something else going on. That approach lacks the intentionality I would like to have. I can almost guarantee that, for me, a penciled-in date is probably a non-starter. If I have to put it in my calendar, it probably means that we’re not connecting on a level that stands out. Not only that, I can almost guarantee that if it’s treated like a business meeting (meaning we probably won’t talk or text until then), I’ll be inclined to prioritize other things I might want to do on my own.
This isn’t how my days usually start. While I’m not one to wake up all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, I’m also not one to lie in bed thinking life is absurd.
As I ate breakfast and scrolled the news, I could sense how my mood was coloring everything I read. I saw a LinkedIn post from former colleagues in the Philadelphia area. They were celebrating something or other. I wondered what my life would have been like had I stayed. Had I kept the house. Had I stuck around. I saw a post announcing a former Penn State football player as a guest speaker at a conference I would have normally attended. I had always liked this player, but was suddenly feeling a twinge of jealousy over how opportunities abound for people with fame. This player was one of three former PSU football players recently elected to the board of trustees for the University. I’m sure there are equally, if not more, qualified people who are as passionate about serving the university as the former football players… but they have neither the name recognition nor the platforms to get noticed or elected to the board of trustees of a major university. It was reminder that most of us are nobodys just plodding along.
I finished my breakfast wanting to be more upbeat or motivated. I thought about looking for jobs, but there won’t be any new postings on a Monday morning. I could remember a time when most jobs were listed in the Sunday newspaper. I could remember a time when I had to place help wanted ads in the paper – the rush to get it written up and into the publisher by the Thursday deadline. I felt old – unapologetically so.
I can sense that this feeling of resentment and existential dread is some weird type of projection and/or self-pity going on. I’m not feeling terribly useful. I can sense that today might just be one of those days when I’m feeling stuck on every front (job, dating, writing) and feeling powerless to change my circumstances. It’s still early enough to direct my energies somewhere – maybe a run will clear up this existential fogginess.