Not afraid, just not enthusiastic
Since A passed away, I have found that bit by bit I’ve arrived at a place where I do not fear death. That was the theme of a show I watched tonight as well, and so it’s hanging around in my head. But what I’m thinking about is that while I’m not afraid of death, I’m not so sure about life these days.
It’s not that I’m afraid to live. I’m living. I’m eating and drinking and doing stuff and learning and going to work and sleeping and talking to people without biting their heads off, again. I’m absolutely living. But I would have to admit, I’m lacking a certain enthusiasm for the task. Whereas before I was forced to reckon with the abyss, I had joie de vivre by the boat-load. I was up for an adventure. Cool! Yes! Let’s try something new! Life is great!
I just don’t have that right now, and I don’t know if it’s temporary, a lingering effect of grief, or if this is what I’m looking at for the duration. I feel the duration; it fairly looms. I feel like “Oh yeah…life…well, I suppose I’ll live it, as long as I’m here.” I don’t know if this makes me Zen or depressed, honestly. There’s a resignation in it that doesn’t feel good.
I don’t want to just be marking time for the rest of my life, however long that may be. But I don’t know how to feel other than what I feel. For now, I guess I just keep doing what I’m doing, and hope that the process will out, that my emotional state will catch up with my activity. I don’t really know what else to do.