Finding Peace.

Y’know, I’m someone who is pretty well-put-together. I’m reliable, good in a crisis, calm under pressure, great at reacting properly in the worst moments. I don’t say this to brag or seek praise, I just know that at 39 years old, I’m a guy you can count on. But even most people close to me would say that I’m hard to get to know. I’d rather ask about your day than discuss the hardest parts of my own; I’d rather help to solve your problems than even think about my own. I’m mostly humble and can’t take a compliment, and am overly appreciative of the most minor of overtures. Along with these qualities comes someone who is guarded, private, and worst of all, sometimes emotionally stilted. 

I’ve been lucky. I have a loyal and stable foundation of friends and family, still-married parents, and a close, supportive sibling. I was never abused or suffered any major trauma. Over my life I’ve been given the freedom to explore both the world and myself, and I’ve been allowed to have few responsibilities and as much independence as any lower-to-middle class person can afford. However, despite any grand adversity, throughout my life I’ve still found inner contentment unattainable.

For years and years I’ve struggled with a mild yet consistent form of malaise. Some would call it torpor or ennui. Others would simply say depression. Now, all these years later, newcomers classify it as a midlife crisis. Though not clinically diagnosed, it’s a burden that I have rarely hinted at. I have known counties people suffering from far worse and much more real cases who were obtaining medication and seeking guidance from professionals. I often dismissed my issues as the temperament of an artist, or being self-indulgent and suffering from insomnia, or that I was simply someone who had a run of bad luck. Maybe I was just being pathetic and needed to suck it up and get on with living.

But alas…

Finally, slowly but steadily, in the last two to three years, by some unexpected miracle, I think I have finally found my own form of contentment. The change didn’t come over night, but was somehow a magical series of events, some lucky, some hard-earned. A building reputation and money and coincidence and lots of steady work. With small and incremental steps, I’ve grown more confident than ever before, more deliberate and commanding, more focused, and dare I say far more mature and adult. It has been refreshing and long-awaited. I’ve become a better man these last couple years, but I still felt somehow incomplete. There were still moments of restlessness and loneliness, and I still longed for just a bit more.

It wasn’t until this past Saturday night, in the dark, under warms covers and in the arms of someone who truly loves me, as I sobbed in the most complete and utter moment of uncontrollable vulnerability, that I fully understood what happiness was. Moreover, I realized that it was attainable. This engulfing, all-encompassing feeling of joy that I have never believed in, at least not one that would happen in my own life, became real. And it was in this long moment that I finally discovered a restful and embracing peace. 

I’m not sure what this essay should or could mean to anyone in particular, especially those who come to this site to see boobs and butts. But for those of you who care, and especially those who suffer with similar self-doubt and fear of the future, I just want to let you know, hope is alive. Things can and will get better. And life will go on. Now go out there and start living it.