My friend, and boss, Reverend Peyton recently said something to me that made a lot of sense: “It’s depressing when you get older and realize how little you know.”
Some may not agree that you know less the older you get. But in many ways, it’s true.
When you’re younger, you think you have everything figured out. You know what school you want to go to and why. You know what your career is going to be. You know that you’re gonna love every minute of it.
As you age, you see that you don’t know everything. Your plans fall through — or you just straight-up find a better idea.
You hate where you picked to go to school. You hate the career that it put you into. You realize that sports aren’t actually that important.
(That one hurts the most.)
Last year, it seemed like everything was falling into place for me. I suffered an injury that would finally force me to quit my job at Walmart. I met an amazing girl. And I eventually got a stay-at-home job writing about the stock market.
Well, the girl moved and working from home turned out to be really boring.
By winter time, I was depressed. I don’t use that term lightly. I was really down.
It was more seasonal depression than anything. But the environment of my life in general led me to a low spot.
My day-to-day life was just boring. I’d wake up, do my daily tasks, clock out, and not do much else.
I wasn’t meeting anyone new. I wasn’t having fun with a hobby. I was hibernating inside, pecking away at my keyboard.
Eventually, I was asked to become the tour manager of a band, and that depression went away. Now, I’m getting more than my fair share of socialization. But I’m still missing one key element.
Personal purpose.
I’m having fun, which is important. But the one great thing about working from home was I had all the time in the world to write — about whatever the hell I wanted. I wrote some awesome articles that I’m really proud of to this day. And I was able to publish my second book.
Nowadays, I’m writing a decent amount, but it feels directionless. I’m writing about my thoughts on this or that, but it doesn’t feel like it’s building toward anything.
That’s what’s great about writing a book. There’s so much work… It always feels like there’s something you can do.
Now, when I’m off the road and forced to make something of that day, I work on stuff that doesn’t seem to matter much in the grand scheme.
What I do day-to-day does matter. Writing is always good, no matter what it is about. Putting work out into the universe almost always goes rewarded.
But there’s a dime-sized hole in me that I’m afraid will start to grow larger.
So, I know I need another grand project. Maybe a book, maybe something else. I just hope the idea comes to me soon.