Also Ran

I think I'm having a midlife crisis. While it 'feels' early, and like I should wait till my 40s to hit that particular milestone, I've often been precocious. And while it feels melodramatic to claim such a thing, it is also giving me a little perspective on my dark mood.

The fact is, I am never going to accomplish anything I hoped to. I'm talented--probably in the top 1%, but I'm not in the .01%. Furthermore, I've never committed fully to my creative endeavors. In a way, I treated them as a consolation prize for the fact that I always 'knew' I'd never have a partner. That day my father said no man would ever love me if I didn't lose weight, and I didn't know how to lose weight--I tried everything. That day etched into my psyche one truth that I accepted until recently.

There are two intertwining issues and several background elements that are contributing to my foul mood.

First the background: I hated George Bush. I don't mean in a trendy "isn't he awful" sort of way. I mean in soul-defining "this is my mission to stop evil" sort of way. Much of my passion, much of my energy, much of my life-force went to stopping that man. Now we all know just how successful I was at preventing the Iraq war, the looting of the treasury, all that. But regardless of my success, it gave me a real purpose in my life.

Interestingly, I didn't get blue after Obama won. But I did start hanging out with John again the week after the election. Without realizing it, I think I transferred some of that energy and passion onto John.

Isn't it funny--I hadn't accepted that he was truly gone until he updated his flickr page. He'd invited me to hang out with some of his friends yesterday, and when he first invited, I wasn't sure I'd be in town that weekend, and then he just disappeared. I cried when I went by the restaurant they were meeting at yesterday (it was on the bus route to something else, and I forgot I'd go by it till it was too late). And then when I saw his flickr page today, I started crying like a baby. His static flickr page meant his life was sort of on hold. Clearly he has moved on. But it is good. Closure. It is the most closure I'll get from him.

Now that that is gone, I think I'm not only dealing with the crushing of that dream, but also the void of not having any real purpose to my life.

I'm reacting so poorly to John's Houdini act in part because he taught me something I didn't want to accept, which is that I can't be with a man I don't respect. God, I've tried SO hard. Intellectually, I'd rather have a partner than not, but on this visceral, gut-level, I just can't do it. I gave my ex 20 minutes earlier in the week, but only because I was doing taxes at the same time. And there are so few men out there that I genuinely respect. It seems a statistical impossibility.

Being with John was an amazing gift. Conversations that went in depth, and broad-ranging and funny and joyous. I loved him. I still do. Although I'm trying to view that the way a cocaine addict views cocaine. Our mismatched interests were just destroying me--I have to save myself.

So, of course, the intertwining issues that are making this moment so difficult are trying to let go of John and the lack of accomplishment in my life. The lack of love I've documented well enough in other places.

But the lack of accomplishment: I have enough accomplishments to brag about, but not enough to be proud of. The harsh words from the book agent hurt really badly. I realize, in a way, it is not surprising because I was trying to write a romance novel that is not easily categorizable. I wanted to change the genre and use the outer format to develop questions about gender issues and how we navigate them, not just repeat it with different clothing. But it clearly didn't work.

I am coming to the conclusion that I am an "also ran." And I really hate it. Deep down part of me still believes there must be some purpose for my time on this earth, but I can't really imagine what it is. Perhaps I need to accept that and find ways to ring joy out of the journey and not the destination. That's the philosophical part. The visceral level just wants to curl up, cry and hibernate.