Hitting Walls

I used to read some people's blogs and shake my head in silent lip-pursed judgment. The posts themselves were great, but I felt like they lacked a certain authenticity, like they were more performance art than a bearing of the heart. They were raw. They were open and emotional. But there was something wrong with them: the authors were writing anonymously. Without an actual identity to attach to the posts, I felt like I couldn't fully attach myself to or align myself with the things they were saying.

But--as often happens in my life--I am finding myself needing to reevaluate my position on anonymous blogging. There is a simple reason for this. There are a great many things that are and have been on my mind, but there are so many people (not "so many" in the I'm-so-great-and-thousands-upon-thousands-of-people-read-my-blog sort of way, but "so many" in the sense that I've become aware that many people I know personally), people who also know me personally, who read the things I write here. What this means is that I can't really talk about liking this person, or dating that person, or questioning my feelings for this person, or being frustrated with that person, etc., without worrying that each of the people in question will, at some point, read this or that post. This adds to my wondering about what the purpose of this blog will be in the future. After all, if I don't feel like I can write authentically, then what am I supposed to write about? Do I have to start another blog and write anonymously?

There is another problem, too: I feel like my posts from the past year have pointed in a certain direction; that is, my life was coming together; I was becoming at peace with my past and my past self; and I was coming to a place of joy and fulfillment, both within myself and with the world around me. My life, since moving back to Arizona, has not done any of those things.

I feel, on some level, like I should now be able to say something like the following: "Well, here I am in Arizona! I'm loving it! My new job is the dreamboat I felt it would be. I mean, why wouldn't it be? Everyone told me that they 'had a good feeling' about it. I've found an amazing apartment, and it's so wonderful to be able to be in a place I love and support myself. On top of all that, I've got an amazing boyfriend, the one I've been dreaming of since I was in junior high, one who is my best friend and confidant, one who laughs with me until we can't breathe, tells me to shape up when I need it, and motivates me to be a better person. I'm happy to report that after all the pain and suffering, my life is finally complete and I am happier than I've ever been."

The past month or so, I've been thinking about that post I wrote where I "heard" a voice saying that I would find what I've been looking for, that all I've wanted I will have. I had myself utterly convinced that I was going to come to Arizona and all the pieces would fall into place, as if Arizona was where I was supposed to be all along, as if this was where my destiny awaited me.

But here I am. My job is beyond frustrating; I am not happy there at all. I'm living at my mom's house because the pay cut I had to take in moving here precludes my getting an apartment and living on my own. And my knight in shining armor is still out riding his horse somewhere. And, to make this post more frustrating, that's all I can write about all that because, as I said, I don't feel like I can go into any more detail due to my inability to speak openly and frankly anymore.

This is not to say, however, that my time here so far has been a non-stop self pity party. It is wonderful beyond words being close to my family. We have instituted a monthly gourmet dinner in my family. We rotate hosts and each host picks the theme and assigns dishes. The first was a mish-mash, the second was French-themed, and the one tomorrow is Italian-themed. I've also met some wonderful new people and gone to a couple dinner parties and game nights, which I love. I've gone camping with my best friend. And I've had lots of time in the sun and in the pool.

But at the bottom of it all, I'm a 37-year old man, frustrated and overwhelmed at his job, living at home, and single. And now I have no real outlet to talk about what's going on in my head.