Why am I here?

I should be sleeping but I’m not. It’s not that I’m not tired because I am, absolutely. I just can’t seem to shake this feeling of being off kilter. I feel like something’s coming, and I don’t know what that might be. It could be good, or it could be bad. It could also be my very vivid and very active imagination on overdrive. Or it could be my anxiety or my depression or a combination of the two. It’s hard to say.

The world is a jumble right now. People are going berserk. Everything feels like its upside down or on its way to being upside down. Freedom convoy. Russia attacking the Ukraine. People who say they love God and follow His word are now worshipping a man who’s only ever worshipped money, power, and excess. Good people are being vilified. Bad people are being worshipped. And everyone thinks they’re on the side of right, but we can’t all be right. Some of us must be wrong. Right?

To be clear, I’m not looking for anyone’s opinion on the convoy or Russia or Trump or anything for that matter. That’s not what this is about. It’s related to that in a way, but it’s not that, not really. I think my lifelong bout of existential disquiet has been turned up a few notches by current events.

Why am I here? Why am I not dead? Not to be overly dramatic, but I’ve “almost” died several times in my life and I’m only 51. Why did I live? Am I supposed to be doing something? Is there a task or a challenge or something else I’m supposed to complete in order to move on? As I say this, I realize that it sounds like I can’t wait to die, but that’s not true either. I don’t want to die. There are so many things I love about being alive, not to mention the people I love. I want to be here with them. I just don’t know what I’m supposed to be doing.

I can’t live a life where I go to work, come home, eat dinner, watch television, go to bed, and then get up the next day and do the exact same thing all over again. No. I don’t want a “normal” life if that’s what normal is supposed to look like. Heck, I’ve been trying to be “normal” for so long now that I’ve completely forgotten what being me looks like, and I’ve long forgotten what a perfect life for me looks like, but I know what it’s not. It’s not pretending like I understand what everyone else is doing or thinking because I don’t. I don’t understand.

Why can’t we talk about real things, like the fact that there are too many people starving to death in this world when there’s enough food on this planet to feed everyone? Why is it so easy to go about our daily lives and not think about the people who are being abused, held against their will, or even killed? Why can’t we talk about why some people are anti-immigration but also God-fearing Jesus lovers at the same time? Can’t they see the contradiction? Why are so many people obsessed with telling others how to live their lives or who should be able to do what or live where depending on their skin colour, race, or religion? Why do good people become politicians to save the world, but then turn around and set it on fire?

I’m frustrated. I’m confused. I’m growing ever closer to becoming someone else, someone who no longer believes that good will overcome evil.

It’s like being vegan. I ate meat and dairy all my life. Then, in my mid-40’s, I decided to become vegetarian. It was something I’d always wanted to do but never did. Of course, there were several false starts with that but eventually I made it. Then, my youngest daughter pushed me to become vegan and I’m glad I did that, but for the past year and half, I’ve gone back to being vegetarian because it’s easier. I want to be vegan. I don’t want to do anything that puts an animal’s welfare at risk. And yet… I’m not vegan anymore.

Why am I telling you this? Because I feel like there’s a correlation here. You see, most people I know eat meat and dairy. I’m certain they wouldn’t if they could see the animals being slaughtered, but they don’t because they don’t have to. They can happily ignore the truth about where their dinner really came from and go on eating whatever they like whenever they like. (This is not about judging. I'm long past the stage where I think I have all the answers. I could be entirely wrong on this front and eating meat may be completely okay. I don't think so, but I don't know that for certain. I don't know anything for certain.)

In any case, I feel like that. Not about the meat and dairy thing, although I have been partaking of cheese this past year. That and eggs. No, it’s not that. It’s the wars, the poverty, the abuse, and all the nasty things that people are living through in places all over the world. Here in Canada, we aren’t faced with bombs being dropped on us. Most of us aren’t homeless or living in extreme poverty. Many Canadians don’t know what it feels like to be judged based on the colour of their skin, the religion they practice, or the person they choose to marry.

The thing that’s eating at me is that we don’t have to know. We can go merrily along our way and live our lives completely oblivious to the pain that’s all around us, if we choose to do so, and many of us do. It’s not necessarily right in our faces so we can pretend it’s not real. We can ignore it. It’s not our problem, right?

I don’t want to live like that, not anymore, not ever again. But then, what do I do? I don’t have the power to fix the injustices I see in the world. Seeing people in pain is devastating, especially when you know there’s nothing you can do to help them.

So, I can’t go back to being oblivious, although the pull to do so is quite strong and getting stronger every day. I can’t fix the world and I can’t save anyone. So, where does that leave me? I’m aware of the pain that’s taking place and I’m helpless to do anything about it.

And so, I’ll ask it again. Why am I here? What possible reason could there be for me to be on this planet at this time living this life? And it occurs to me – maybe there isn’t a reason. Maybe my therapist is right, and life is just random. Does the deer in the forest have a reason for living? Does my cat have a reason for living? My life is no better and no more important than theirs, so why do I think mine should have some sort of purpose attached to it?

We’re born. We live. We die.

Is that it? I don’t know.

I’ve always believed in an afterlife of some sort. I’ve always believed in past lives. In fact, I feel like I’ve lived many, possibly too many. Maybe that’s it… living, experiencing life in all its rawness. It changes us. It forces us to grow. Our souls grow and they become more capable of empathy, compassion, kindness, understanding, and, most importantly, unconditional love. I learned that last one from being married. I learned a lot from being married. And I’ve learned a lot from being divorced. My soul has changed, again and again and again.

If our only purpose is to grow our souls, then does it matter where we live or what we do?

I don’t know the answer to that question. In fact, as you know, I have far more questions than I do answers. I’m certain that’s the way it should be, provided we keep asking the questions and continue trying to find the answers. But I’m no closer to feeling less “off kilter” than I was when I began this blog.

I still don’t know where I should live or what I should be doing. I don’t know if I should be single until I die or if I should start dating and find a life partner. If I choose the latter, how will I know the right partner when I meet them? So many questions. Too many unknowns.

Why am I here? Because I am.

That’s it. That’s all. I am here now because I am. I am.

I am.

I’m starting to think that might be enough. I am. I exist. I’m enough.

And now I'm going to bed. At 4:30 in the morning.