I have these moments when I feel like I’m on the outside of my life, looking in… a peeping-tom trying to catch glimpses of the real me, and the real parts of my life.
I sometimes imagine that I am walking along a darkened street, glancing in the windows of the houses I pass, the windows framing the activities of life and living. I wait for the bits where its me doing the living, but it feels like they are few and far between. I generally feel disconnected from forward momentum of my life.
I’m not sure when this started to happen. I once said it is important to live your life, and not let it live you. Just a little bit of sophistry that I fear has become a truism about how I’m moving through the world. I’m waiting for life to happen to me, rather than controlling the experience.
How very sad to have reached this point, and not to know how it happened. I’ll blame some of it on my cerebral hemorrhage, some of it on the situation at work, and most of it on a general discomfort with the person I am becoming, and the choices I’ve made.