Am I taking life too seriously?

Why I am asking (TL;DR, Life is Hard):

Some days you get really upset because the doctors postponed yet another of your dad’s chemo treatments because he wasn’t healthy enough for it, and he fell and hit his face because he wasn’t eating enough, and you can’t convince him to move in with his sister so there is always someone around. And other times you sit down too hard and rip big holes in the well worn thighs of your jeans. And it is the dichotomy of these moments in life that can help you slow down and think about the things that really matter to you.

Three years ago, almost to the week, I moved to Baltimore Maryland from the small farm town in Michigan I grew up in. I left behind all my family and friends, some on purpose, some as collateral damage. I left behind the roads and the ghost stories I knew, and I moved to an area that doesn’t have a Meijer in a 5 hour driving radius. And about a year and 4 months ago, I cut contact with my narcissistic mother. The past year and a quarter has been extremely difficult. I dealt with wave after wave of grief processing. I never questioned my decision or wanted to undo it, but sometimes I wished I’d never done it in the first place. For most of that year, I felt like I was drowning in this really dark place. Every day was filled with new firsts – and not in a good way. I had to face my first thanksgiving without talking to my family or making any of the traditional family dishes. I had to face my first Christmas without doing a gift exchange with my family. I had my first trip back home since I cut contact, and the complete circus of trying to see my dad and friends while avoiding my mother. I had my first big emotional work problem that I couldn’t ask for her support with – because she was really good at giving advice for those things.

I also had to learn a lot. I had to learn how to ask for help. I had to learn how to process and feel my emotions rather than just shut them down, “grow up,” and move on. I had to learn that it is okay to have needs (still working on that one). I read tons of books, I tried out several therapists. I spent hours crying to friends and my coach about all the pain that came with this decision. I started seeing a psychiatrist and taking anti-depressants, which meant several weeks of adjustments and side-effect surviving until my levels evened out. And then, just when I was starting to feel like I was getting my feet underneath me again, my dad got really sick, and I had to go back to MI yet again. While I was there, he got diagnosed with cancer. I stayed for nearly a month to help take care of him and support him, and after he started his first chemo treatment, I came back home to Maryland.

For a while he seemed to be getting better, but then all of a sudden he took a turn for the worse. And since then, he’s been yo-yoing back and forth, he’s better for a while, and then worse again. And for the past few weeks, I have been going to countless doctors appointments of my own, changing more medications, and feeling just absolutely terrible. So, it was while I was sitting on my couch, wrapping a very small fidget toy gift to look like a full sized chair for a work secret Santa, with freshly torn holes in the thighs of my pants, I started to wonder if everything is really as serious as it has felt for the past few years.

Google seems to think so!

I googled “Am I taking life too seriously” and our trusty AI overlords pulled together some pertinent information for me! Gemini (Google’s AI system) said, essentially, that it is ultimately up to you to decide if you are taking life too seriously, but you might be, if you are:

• constantly stressed
• if you do a lot of catastrophic thinking
• you are letting fear control your decisions
• you are forgetting to have fun

All of that sounds a little too familiar to me.

Existential Freedom

I am sure you are probably familiar with the concept of existential dread. It’s where you think too hard about life and what it means, and it starts to really upset you. I used to, quite frequently, have the exact opposite reaction. I generally was a person who had a plan for everything. I thrive off to-do lists and agendas, and I love having an outline for what comes next. But since I moved out here and I cut contact with my mother, I have been experiencing a lot of existential dread. I’ve been really struggling with identity, and trying to figure out what parts of me exist because that is who I am vs. what parts of me exist because that is who my mother told me I need to be. It has been a very complex tear down, which has involved a lot of sleepless nights and stress.

But the experience that I used to have was, when i thought a little too hard about life, I realized that I had complete and utter freedom. If I want to by a canoe and ride it down the river, I can. If I want to go hike up a mountain, I can. If I want to go buy an electric scooter, the only thing stopping me is my other bad financial decisions. It used to be that when I tried to peer behind the curtain and find the meaning of life, I saw an endless sea of possibility. Lately, as I have tried to shift through the weighty and tainted memories, and sort them into neat little piles under the light of the new things I learned about myself and my family, I have lost that vision. I have fallen into wondering what the point of it all is, as existential dread generally leads people to do.

Now, if you are prone to existential dread, this might be a good time to stop reading. You may find this next bit a tad jarring.

As I was sitting on the couch, I started to think about my dad being sick. I have tried over and over to encourage him to make good choices, but he continues to be stubborn. He insists that he’s fine, that he doesn’t need help, and that he wants to stay in his own home. I can’t afford to make the trip back right now, and my brother and my aunt aren’t going to take the responsibility and force him, but I have done as much as I can do. I have been extremely stressed about this for weeks, and angry at him, but there is actually a lot of beauty in that. I am angry because I care about him, because I love him, and because I don’t want to see him suffer. But he seems to be pretty married to his suffering. He is not working to get himself out of it, in fact, he is digging his heels in and holding firm in it. So why, if that is where he wants to be, should I let that make me suffer with him?

Here is where the dread vs freedom comes into play. All dad’s die eventually. Of course I don’t want to lose my dad. But I don’t have any control over when that will happen, and it will eventually inevitably happen. I am no mad scientist, and I don’t have a time machine, so no matter what I do, I will not be able to prevent him from some day dying. It would be really nice if he could make it through the rest of his chemo treatments and live many many more years. But he’s not doing anything to help himself through that. And if he isn’t going to give it his all, I can’t make him.

Life, right now anyways, seems like one big episode of “Whose Line is it Anyways?” where everything is made up and the points don’t matter. If I don’t want to be here, I don’t have to be. If I don’t like my job, I can apply somewhere else. If I don’t like the people in my life, I can move and find new people. And if I do like my job I can stay. If I do love my people, I can drown them in that knowledge. If I want to eat cake for breakfast, I will eat cake for breakfast. If I want to buy a house, I will buy a house. Everything is made up. Every single part of society that we all participate in is made up. And that, somehow, feels so freeing. If I can’t afford the house I want, I will find one that I like. If I hate them all, I’ll choose a condo, or an apartment, or a tiny home, or something else. I’ll decorate my guest bathroom in a pigeon theme. I’ll have dinner parties with friends. I’ll spend tons of money on my tea cart and my electric scooter. And when the time comes for me to lose my dad, or the world to lose me, or anyone to go, really, well, there is nothing I can do about that. The only thing I can do is find ways to have fun, and earn as many fake points as possible, by connecting and loving and finding joy and sharing it as much as I can. I think life is really not that serious, and that is probably actually very wonderful.

My dad is sick, and making bad choices for himself, but I can’t force him to do anything, and he will be done when his time is up. I can’t have any control over that.

I don’t talk to my mom anymore. She used to hurt my feelings all the time, and even now, the distinct lack of caring hurts my feelings. But I did and I got what I wanted. It isn’t that serious.

I don’t have extra cash to break my lease and move early, so I have to wait a few more months. But an exercise in patience will be good for me anyways. How many fun and unserious things can I do before I have to move?!

I’ve been upset about this man who got out of his car and yelled at me about my dog and whether or not she was pooping. She was not, and I always clean up after her. Aside from that, this is a pet friendly apartment complex and I pay extra to have her. But life is not that serious. I’m sure there are real life repercussions, but if I really wanted to, I could go outside and shit directly on the hood of his car myself. I bet no one would stop me in the moment! I just can’t remember which car was his. Life is really not that serious.

I might get arrested if I shit on my neighbors car, so if you have any ideas for OTHER very unserious things I can do to explore the whacky side of life, please let me know!