Over the last few months I’ve lost a bunch of weight-and continue to do so. At any given point, now will be lowest weight I’ve reached as an adult. Along the way here I learned the fundamental of compassion. With it have been able to reach out to the people in my life and become a positive force in theirs. My ex-wife and I have mended many bridges, which has brought my kids more into my life than ever. I’ve given real people to people in need.
Work…well, work challenges me to learn and improve and apply every day. There’s that.
The shit people in my life are all gone now.
It’s going great by every metric: I’m healthy and trim and productive and good and strong and helpful. Yet despite it all I’m not happy. I’m fucked off and restless and angry and hopeless and tired and sad. The Dublin grind crushes me. Go to work, go home, run, go to work, repeat. There’s nobody left here for me, no reason to stay, nothing to reward me if I hold out. You can be so alone in a city of people.
It doesn’t matter what I accomplish for myself, because I use it to drive myself harder. Be better, be kinder, be stronger in spirit, be faster, be smarter, be something for somebody, without a drop of compassion for myself. I don’t know the last time I felt happy. No strings attached happy, with or without somebody. Instead I have today’s hard work, tomorrow’s hard work, next week’s hard work…