Several years ago, I remember going through a period of apathy. I wouldn't call it depression, but I just didn't care about anything. My life was in the process of changing, but that change became the totality of my day-to-day existence. I was consumed by work. Doing a good job and completely getting rid of my debt was my focus. I didn't do much else but work.
It was a very solitary time. I was making a lot of progress. Almost everything I earned (which, for me, was a substantial amount) went towards paying off my debts. I didn't want to think about anything that I might want for myself until I was free. Freedom meant not owing anyone anything. Freedom meant enjoying my solitude. And freedom meant being able to think about what I wanted without factoring in other variables, such as my debts. I didn't even want to consider being in a relationship again until I was financially independent. Money had a horrible way of interfering with things.
Even though I was making progress towards my goals, it was such a long period of time to focus on nothing else. For three or four years, I basically did nothing but work. While I did improve my technical knowledge, I ended up destroying myself a bit in the process. My health was deteriorating. I wasn't taking care of myself. I ate horribly (and learned to cook horrible food wonderfully). I gained weight. I had begun to smoke and the habit grew on me until I was going through one or two packs of cigarettes per day.
Although I no longer have my journals, I remember them being repetitive at that time. As I recall, I didn't know what held meaning for me any more. In the evenings, I struggled to remember times from the past when I'd felt joy. And I couldn't. I couldn't remember what happiness was like. I eventually questioned my mental and emotional health. Other than work, I wasn't sure there was anything I truly cared about.
Such periods in life are odd. How can I complain about such times? I mean, I was making progress! That's a lot more than many people can say. I was making something of my life, even if I'd lost touch with what that meant to me. I was going somewhere. I was accomplishing my goals. And, yet, I felt empty.
And, lately, I feel like I did back then. I guess these periods replay themselves on occasion. People get stuck every now and then; at least, I do.
Which is why I've been thinking about that last long stretch of time I had several years ago. I'm thinking about it because I remember how I budged out of it. The memory basically defines how I view meaning in life.
There were a series of journal entries, but these ones were different. I almost wish I still had them. What I wrote was something along the lines of this, in a compressed format:
All of life comes down to what we care about. People use the phrases "I don't care" and "Who cares?" far too often. We say these things so much that we actually stop knowing what to care for. We even stop caring about ourselves. We stop thinking about what's important to us. We stop thinking, period. And we stop caring. And all the while, the truth is that there is no meaning in life unless we do care for something. Unless we truly care, how can we call anything important? If meaning is found in what we value, in what shapes us and makes a difference to us, then we have to care. After all, what value is there in anything unless we care for something first?
And so I made a pledge to myself to care more. It wasn't a new pledge, but it meant something important to me at the time. For me, caring meant being a stronger person. A better person. A healthier and smarter person. It meant responding to every utterance of "Who cares?" with an "I do." It meant pursuing my goals and not neglecting myself. It meant finding joy where I could. Because, in the end, how could I really care about anything else if I didn't also care for myself?
But I also told myself that, should I find difficulty scrounging up motivation, should I have trouble locating the meaning and the reasons to keep caring, then I needed ways to remind myself to soldier on. I needed to have that record to come back to. More than anything, I needed to care even if I couldn't muster up a reason, even if I couldn't say why I should. What I decided was that acting like I care is often the first step.
Sometimes we just don't have the feeling in us. Sometimes we just have to behave as if we do care, because, honestly, it's too easy to lose track of why we should. We forget the importance of our reasons for caring. But, in such times, even if we can't remember why our reasons matter, we should at least know what those reasons are. We should know what it is we're striving for and what it is that is important to us. When everything goes to hell and we're left in a state of being lost, when we don't seem to care for the only things that held meaning for us, then we need that direction more than ever. We need that roadmap to guide us. Knowing what our reasons are allows us to keep going the right way, despite feeling like we're lost. It's times like those when we have to act like we care. Our convictions can guide us a long way if we let them.
I've travelled some barren roads in the past. Apathy is like that. Everything looks the same after a while. No matter which way you look, there's nothing on the horizon. All directions look the same, equally unappealing. But if your life is going to hold the meaning that you want it to, if you want to maintain the direction that truly holds meaning for you, you've got to be able to stay on course. As unappealing as the road ahead looks, you've got to act as if it is. Sometimes, that's how you get there. In a meaningful life, sometimes it's important to know how to respond when there's apparent and utter lack of meaning.
