There comes a time in everyone’s life where they ask the question  ‘what does it all mean’. At least that’s what I infer from all those Hollywood movies and predictable TV shows. I don’t think I could care any less about a particular subject than I do about that one.

Sure, the question of life, the universe and everything is an important one. But Douglas Adams already answered that one for me. 42. How much more of a simple and elegant answer do you need than that one? I really get that one now, more than most people do. Am I going to explain it? Nope. Way I see it, if you can’t figure it out on your own, you don’t deserve to know. A cop out? Hah. Think what you want. If I started caring about the opinions of others now, well, I think it would be time to swallow a bottle of something highly toxic.

So here I am, twenty-eight years old, moving into a whole new chapter of my life. And am I questioning my purpose, the purpose of life, or the world around me? Am I on some existential quest for understanding and enlightenment? Do I even care? Nope, not one little bit. I’m just going with it, and hoping for the best. Maybe it’s because I’m just glad to be finally awake, and glad to be alive inside.

I guess that’s what happens when you remain for too long in a relationship with someone you feel absolutely nothing for. I didn’t actually love her. At least not in the way required of a romantic relationship. I loved the idea of being with someone and having a future with that person. I planned on work, going back to school, a job wearing a suit and being behind a desk, and so on. A real future and real emptiness all for some wishful thinking. And the biggest problem with this is, I didn’t figure it out before it screwed me over. It was like I was in a coma somewhere in a snowbank, and someone else was running things for me while I was gone. But I’m awake and alive now, for the first time in years.

The next part though is the real challenge. Having dreams and goals of my own again, and planning to reach for those dreams and goals while contending with the reality of needing a day job to keep the bills paid. Creating a real life for myself, not one filled with false expectation and stupid ideas of what the future should be. I find myself more and more fully embracing the concept of myself becoming a writer much like I wanted to be when I was a kid, except for different reasons now. I also keep looking towards the past, trying to find some simple example of a relationship that has actually worked. One where there was real love and real respect. And only one that I can think of actually had any semblence of these concepts, and they sure as hell weren’t the most recent of examples. Well no matter, that’s a tale for another time I think.

So instead of questioning the universe, I am asking other questions. Questions as follows, in order of importance. Do I have a hope in hell of actually being a writer? Not just a writer though, anyone can do that, but a skilled and accomplished writer. Should I continue on through life alone for the time being, or try another relationship? This time one where the person actually cares about me and will support me for who I am, not for what they think I should be.

Stay tuned, the answer to all these questions and more will probably never come in any sort of concrete form. But maybe if you’re nice enough, I’ll pretend they have and explain them to you to make you feel better about your own worthless, petty, existences.