Stuck in the moment, momentarily stuck

There is a point each day where the enormity of existence hits me. This manifests itself in a physical way as I feel my body crushing under the weight of intense disappointment. Usually this happens after I have had a success. Success is usually publishing something or otherwise accomplishing something professionally. 

What does personal success look like? Somewhere in my inability to answer that question lies a tremendous sense that I'll never really be at rest for it makes me feel vulnerable. 

Yet I recognize you have to slow down, but when professional matters are not pressing I find that I have free time to ponder the constant isolation and the paradox it presents. In order to be productive, I need to spend a lot of time alone. But to move in a direction of more personal success, whatever that means, I might need more people around. 

Writing paragraphs on this topic helps me think and there are many times when jotting down my thoughts is enough to make me transition from the end of the work day and the beginning of a more creative time. I don't have the energy to make anything tonight, but perhaps I'll end up with a more organized space. 

I don't know. Sometimes what I need most is to unplug my executive function and see what happens as I work my way throughout the house inhabiting the space and beginning to think about what happens tomorrow.

At the end of this missive, I find myself rejuvenated and ready to enjoy my life again. The weight of feeling incomplete somehow is gone and I can enjoy myself. 

The disentanglement from the narrative

This has been a year of change and so much of what holds me together is my isolation. If I only have my own thoughts in my mind, then I stand a better chance of sorting through everything I need to do to be as productive as I am.

I know there's a lot missing from my life as a result. And I don't know what I can really do, because the productivity brings meaning. The meaning keeps me going as a business. 

I recently put working clocks in the front room, two of them that were formerly at the old house at Dogwood Place. I would still have preferred a better outcome. 

But this is the now I find myself in, having made a series of choices including realizing that so many had already been made. 

So what do I do now? What is this place I find myself? I wake up every day a different person with some of the days filled with adventure but most of them filled with endless research into the existence I find in the public record. I have built a life around turning public discussion into stories, and yet my own story seems so much a non-entity.

Do I exist? What are the rules of this domain?

I do not know, but I am grateful for the technology that exists for me to capture these words, maybe to exist long past my death. I am hopeful that is not for many more years, and I am confident the path I am on is the path I am on.