Funk. I thought I had experienced it plenty. However, the last two years of pandemic living have given me a new understanding of the term. Recently, my powerful funk has led to me living in parallel universes.
In one, the universe is superficially nominal, and so is your life. The days fold into long units of time seamlessly. The rate of growing older between the grocery runs and the laundry is underestimated. The sense of control and the sphere of influence is overestimated. While there are frequent ups and downs, some of larger magnitudes, you think the trend is overall positive. After all, you are making more money. Thinking of a larger house. Scavenging auto trader for deals on exciting flat-plane V8 powered rear-wheel drive manual transmission vehicles.
In the other funk universe, things are real. You are at half-life and question everything, including your successes so far. The stretched truths accumulated throughout your life shear under stress. The trend toward mindful living and happiness is flattening. Joy is periodic but not organic. It has to be orchestrated. You realize that in this universe, you need fundamentally new approaches for restoring your soul, even if your life appears on track at your annual medical visits.
The fundamentally new approach is a paradox as the core beliefs aren’t revolutionary. The ideologies have been floated in every self-help book and social media application that nugget information between the data thefts and utter nonsense. Yet the following seem to resonate deep within me. My suspicion is that they will get more relevant in the 2nd half-life.
Live each day (if you can). The simplest of plans with the minutest of dependencies have failed as I have gotten older. Since I became a father, this truth has become self-evident. I can plan macro only with a low hardness grade. My new plan is to focus on the micro(drop the kid off on time), excel at the usual, and sleep peacefully.
No one thinks about you. That is vanity. I think I lived my early teens thinking about what my friends thought about me. I spent my early 20s thinking my collegial acquaintances thought about me. I spent my early 30s caring about what my colleagues thought. Recently, I have seen the wisdom of what I read. There is so much pain that everyone carries around. They don’t have the bandwidth to care about your success or failure. Once you realize how vain you have been and start living selfishly for yourself and your family, there is levitation. The weight of your self-expectations is enough.
You are here for others. That is the better story. I did not quite understand living for others not until I was a father. Now, I feel that is the only sense of purpose that is sustainably rewarding. Between Hindu mythology and Carl Sagan, the shortness of our life in the time horizon of the universe and the irrelevancy of us in the biological scheme of things is terrifying, humbling, and uplifting. Everything is forgotten, even majestic legacies. Our life resembles books that are read. The love you give compounds every day. The love you get is a gift. And when you cash out, the regrets are hopefully minimal.
If you don’t celebrate the small wins, you will forget how. I felt I was more successful in my younger years. The fact is that the smaller wins appear large when you are young. As you get older, the win frequency and magnitude both take a hit. In fact, it is hard to recognize success in the noise. And if you don’t celebrate wins, you forget how to or wait for a hypothetical big one. If you are not careful, you might end up talking about severely depressing topics at your celebratory dinner for the recent promotion! Take time to notice the win. Be grateful and treat yourself to a V8 or a national park once in a while.
These truths are specific to my last forty years. They resonate because I failed to do the above consistently and then suffered. My wish for the next 40yrs is newer mistakes and a different growth pattern.
The decisions coming my way in the next 20 years will be significant, frequent, and immediately consequent. I have to be naively triumphant about where I stand today. Then, I might just make it to 2045.
