Feeling Small
By: Rene Faust
Tags: Living With Purpose, Happiness, Life, Existentialism, Depression

Photo by averie woodard on Unsplash

One day, I hope to look up into the great blue sky and feel at home; immersed in safety and warmth, the smile on my face would be genuine and maybe, just maybe, I wouldn’t feel so jaded.

However — today? Right now? I will walk outside my drab office building, tilt my aching head back to drown myself within the sea of infinite blue, and I will feel small. I know I’m supposed to feel small; I mean, we are all so small in comparison to this endless mysterious cosmic universe. So, in the end, ultimately, nothing we live through and for matters. We are just these small meaningless creatures squabbling over pathetic things.

That’s all beside the point. I am small and well, I then feel worthless. So tiny I am, so powerless. My presence is a blip — a snap, a blink, a click — and I am at a loss…how can I live a life worthy of such a meaningless, minuscule existence?

I suppose I can continue trucking the office job. A real difference I shall make there; what substantial pride I will bring to my name…because what time do we really have to put something out there that is deemed extraordinary? We are on this Earth for such an insignificant amount of time, and we waste it by sitting at desks, staring at monitors, typing emails and being yelled at by asshole customers on the phone.

It's fine, though, because there is always later. Right? There is always later to see the world, to compose a new song, to fall in love, to write that fucking book. There is always later to live. Have no fear, good friends later will be here! We don’t know when, or what exactly defines ‘later,’ but it will happen, and when it does, you are then permitted to live! (Of course, after you retire and have some money saved, debts paid, bills stress-free, kids out of the house, good health, you know.)

I have to admit, being a cynic is exhausting. You are always the ‘bad guy,’ the debbie downer, the insensitive asshole. You stare outside your apartment window and observe the cold cruel world; you feel alone and misunderstood and frustrated because what can you do? How can you make the world a better place? You’re just one person — one small person.

But fuck you you fucking cynic, no one wants to hear about you and your constant existential crisis eating you alive from the inside out. So just shut up, and listen to what the optimistic idiots have to say: be happy, be grateful, be appreciative, be glad and ecstatic to be alive!!!

But…I’m not. I mean, I am grateful and appreciative and glad to eat food every day and all that jazz…but alive? Am I ecstatic to be alive? I don’t think I am. Am I? Most of the time, I feel numb and empty. I feel afraid that I am going to die and leave nothing of myself behind. I feel like I am wasting my life, and in this big wide universe, I am smaller than small.

At least a dickhead like Trump will have his name in history books for the rest of humanity’s existence, and who knows? Maybe we’ll make it out in space or aliens will raid Earth, and a book with Trump’s god damn name in it will persist. But I, and the other nobodies like me? We will without a doubt be forgotten. So…no. I am not ecstatic to be alive. Is that a problem for everyone? Is that a problem for you?

If it is, I am sorry. I’m sorry I wake up and just want to remain curled in a tangled blanketed mess with my cat, instead of becoming a walking, breathing capitalist service drone for eight hours. I’m sorry my body and mind are so tired and worn down and desolate; I’m sorry I struggle to motivate myself, to figure my shit out, to be the shining star on your fucking pedestal. I’m sorry.

How can I be ecstatic to be alive when living is so grey and repetitive? How can I be ecstatic when others on the same dying planet we share are suffering because they are disregarded as humans by humans? How can I be happy when the only career my resume deems me worthy of is a small cog to help the capitalistic shitty world go round? Fuck the trees and animals and human rights, but hey, I contribute for the greater good, right? I am living my life, and it is oh, so meaningful.

It’s great. It’s all so great. And that’s what I feel when I look into the sky. That’s what “small” feels to me. I am nothing of the nothings.

Maybe, somehow, a later will arrive in which my heart can feel this foreign happiness person speak of. On that day, I will overcome the obstacle of myself and dive fearlessly into the vast unknown, defying all odds. I will stick it to the man, and turn my back on this shit excuse of a society.

But right now? I don’t know. I am tired, and my mind hurts, and I am struggling. The people in my life either don’t truly know me, or they are immensely disappointed, and it’s kind of hard to give a shit when no one really gives a shit about you. Woe is me, am I right?