Good times

Think of the starving people.

In Africa.

In Asia.

In America.

There are lots of starving people. There is a lot of suffering in this world. Yet for some reason, this mantra that I am told to repeat to myself to make myself a more grateful, happier person ... doesn't quite work.

I've been in a funk for a long time. And I can't quite pinpoint why. I have a respectable job. A nice condo. A great boyfriend. And great friends. So I should be happy. I should be happy.

But I feel incredibly unmotivated. And it's not something that goes away or dissipates. I mean, sure, when I buy a new dress or see a funny movie, I'm temporarily perked up. But in the end, I end up feeling so blase. This is beginning to affect specific aspects of my life. Such as work.

I thought maybe it was the job, and that was the source of my ennui, and so I should just change it. But a recent talk with my supervisor showed me otherwise.

My supervisor approached me about a recent project I did for him, and his vast disappointment in its quality. "I know you're not retarded. I know you're bright. So why are you giving me work that looks like it's been drafted by a retard?"

I didn't have an answer.

He continued, "I get the feeling that you just don't care about the cases. You aren't vested in the things we do here. And I thought when we hired you, you wanted to do the cases we do. But when I see your work product, it seems like you have no interest, no concern for the case, and thus you don't put in the effort. What the f?"

What the f indeed. Amidst his litany of complaints about my work and my attitude and my undeserved salary, there was a grain of truth: I didn't really care. And that's why I didn't do my best. And that's why the work product was less than what I could have done. I know I am capable of more. But I just don't feel like exerting the effort towards something I don't care about.

It's like this: There is a tree. And the highest apple on this tree is the sweetest, juiciest, largest apple. But the closer apple, while not as sweet, juicy or large, is edible and fine. At this juncture in my life, I'm content with the edible, fine apple. I know I can get the highest apple on the tree. But why bother when I'm okay with the closer apple?

I confess this is not the best work ethic, certainly not the work ethic of my parents.

There is a certain guilt in my complacency, other than any guilt resulting from the starving people on this planet. As I've said before, I know that my immigrant parents suffered a lot to survive in this country. They did it all so my brother and I could have all the opportunities this country affords. I went to college, I went to law school and I have a solid job. There is that voice inside of me that tells me I am squandering their efforts and all of this opportunity they created for me, because of my complacency.

I know I can be more than what I am. But there is no driving force in my life that propels me towards that.

I am not, and never will be, one of those A-type gunners. The ones who have to be #1. The ones who sit at the front of every class and raise their hand for every question and read ahead so they can be the best. The BEST.

The idea of being a gunner is repellent to me.

What other motivators are there? Power? No interest. Money? I already know that's not the answer to happiness. So what is it?

Right now, it feels like the answer is "nothing." Absolutely nothing. That's why getting out of bed every morning feels like pulling off a band aid every time. That's why I occasionally do subpar work. I feel constantly disconnected from everything in my life, and it's filled with temporary pleasures like hanging with the boyf or friends. Sometimes I feel like I'm walking down the street and it's not me that's walking, but someone else.

I just want something, someone, to pinpoint what the f is going on. I want a purpose, a goal, SOMETHING, that will awaken me from this funk-adelic slumber from my life, so I don't waste all my formative years feeling so blase and so useless.

This all sounds pretty depressing. But I'm not depressed (at least I don't think so). I think I'm just feeling ... disconnected. From life.