One of the benefits of spending the last two years in an existential crisis is that I've developed the ability to remove myself somewhat from the events around me (because, as the existentialist says, "None of this matters.").
When a job falls through, a guy doesn't call, a bus pulls away without me on it, or a storm cancels a hike, I am able to say with confidence, "It wasn't meant to be."
But as more jobs falls through, more guys never call, and more boats, planes, trains, buses, and cabs are missed, I am forced to shake my fist at the universe and demand, What in God's name IS meant to be?
Still, I'm lucky. For every missed opportunity, another one presents itself to me. As a marketer, I'm used to pitching ten ideas and having only one actually come through. As an actor, I've become accustomed to rejection, from not even getting to audition to not getting cast. You sift through these opportunities in bulk until you find the right one, and hopefully, in time, you find enough right ones to really build a profile of yourself and start to define who you are - at least, who you are professionally. Ideally, in love, you sift through all the clutter until you find one big right one, are smart enough to identify it as such, and stick with it for as long as you can.
I have spent a very long time in limbo these last couple of years, with plenty glimmers of hope that have soon faded. Frogs have been kissed. Hope has been dashed. I can't seem to find the right one of anything.
Somehow, I just keep trying. I don't know why, or for what purpose, but I don't know any other way.
Am I meant to be here? Am I meant to be anywhere?
Does it matter? After all, I am here. I might as well do something while I am.
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