Still Fighting

Drives to the mountains always afford lots of time to ponder the path I've taken to my current situation and the future path I am likely to take. I was fortunate enough to have the time this weekend, on my 36th birthday, for another extended hike to the mountains that overlook Pennsylvania's Lehigh Valley. I didn't like the direction I saw myself heading. Better put, I didn't like what the proverbial crystal ball showed me because right now it's so damn murky.
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There's nothing worse than uncertainty. Well, that's a lie. There are lots of things, millions of things worse than certainty --- cancer being one of them --- but uncertainty can be very stressful. I know I will eventually recover from my current funk and restart my life, but right now I am knee-deep in mud. I've read numerous self-help books. I've subjected myself --- and my bank account --- to psychotherapy for more than three years. I've gained the advice of people I trust and those who have been here before me. Some of it has been helpful, but here I sit: mired. I have grown very tired of the word "but." I must strike it from my vocabulary. A co-worker once spoke of the power of the word "and." So let me try that sentence again: Some of it has been helpful, and here I sit: mired. Wow. That felt almost cathartic. :)
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I had one question to answer during the hour-long drive to my mountain destination: What do I have to show for my first 36 years? I have four years till my 40th birthday and my list of achievements includes a 10-year-old Toyota I hope to one day push off a cliff, a house I'm embarrassed to live in, no job, few decent job prospects, etc. This is not self-pity; it's merely a realistic inventory. To my credit I have a nice blender, an avocado knife, an orange backpack I can't live without, and a growing book collection. (I have lots of other things, of course, but it's just stuff.) By society's standards, however, I am a failure. By that I mean I have no children. But that's all right; I've never wanted children and I can't imagine myself ever having children. Maybe that's because there's so much uncertainty in my own life. (Or maybe "Still Fighting It" from Ben Folds has had a more profound influence on me than I thought: It hurts to grow up / But everybody does.) I do have two dogs I love dearly, but they will most likely be dead within five to seven years. My other accomplishments seem rather ordinary, if not altogether forgettable. Again, this is not self-pity. This is fact.
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So where do I go from here? I don't seem to serve a purpose other than finding new ways to entertain myself. Even that is becoming difficult to do. Here's what I know: Everyone screws up, me included. And this, I am sure, is the valley in a life of uninspiring peaks. I am thankful for my health and my experiences and for who I am and for my place in this world. I'm thankful for countless things, to tell the truth. But I am not content. And I'm not afraid to say it: I want more.