As a gay man living in America, I have increasingly of late been forced to suffer the disingenuous morality used to assault my very existence as proffered by the overly conservative ruling class in this country.  However, fail not to comprehend that this is but only a single piece of my considerations of late.  Career agonies, general societal downfalls, violations and reversals of freedoms, legislative and court support for the limitation of rights, increasingly stressful requirements of survival, and a great many other powerful deliberations continue pressing me to consider radical moves to ensure the safety of my own self as well as that of The Kids.

There exists no person alive today who can claim life is not sometimes turbulent.  Attempts to keep our existence pointed in a single direction often are thwarted by the realities of existence and the mere act of survival.  We may find happiness in where we are, where we’ve been, or where we think we’re going, but truth belies the agony of attempts to claim happiness in all three aspects of life.  You may have one or even two of those considerations, but it seems impossible to find someone able to claim all three with veracity and conviction — unless they are a trust-fund child, of course.

Like everyone else on the planet, even my best intentions are thrown off by simple acts of life.  Am I on track?  Am I happy?  Temporarily at least, I can say yes, although it would be genuinely dishonest to say that I am completely happy with my life at present.  There are always things I wish to change.  I am at this moment in the midst of significant introspection and evaluation; however, the last few years represent a downward spiral into an abyss.

I feel unwelcome in my own country, the continual target of radical elements that want nothing more than to see people like me dehumanized.  My career, although very successful, does not make me happy.  It is not what I want to do with my life, and my current employment increasingly has become hostile and intolerable, consuming more and more of my time while simultaneously offering less and less compensation and promise (and I do not mean only in the financial sense).  Endurance has become the mantra of the day as opposed to living.

That is not to say that I am utterly and completely unhappy or depressed.  Generally speaking, my life is on track and I am living happily and comfortably, yet gnawing at the essence of my soul is the undying question: am I where I want to be, and am I on track to get to where I want to go?  Sadly, I must answer in the negative to both questions.

Part of my problem is my internal compulsion to be a workaholic.  Irrespective of how much or how little I like my job, my sense of duty and responsibility forces me to sacrifice more of myself in order to invest in the ongoing success of my employer.  This appears to be a one-way relationship, however, and the feeling of emptiness and decreasing benefits have forced me to realize that I am being taken advantage of.  This is likely true of all Americans caught up in the world of big business.  We are commodities only, rarely seen as assets and always used as stepping-stones for those above us.  Seldom is the time that anyone can claim they are fully and wholly satisfied with their work environment.  American business and capitalism in general tend to favor those who have at the expense of those who do.  Were all the true workers across the country to stand up and say unanimously that they were tired of ensuring the wealth of the undeserving who were only using them in the first place, things would surely change, but that is only a fantasy.

I believe in self-efficacy.  Circumstances, nevertheless, conspire to violate that personal maxim by assaulting the effort with continuous external stimuli that rob me of time and focus.  When so much effort must be spent on defending myself from the onslaught of misguided politicians and immoral zealots, as well as acting out the role of provider in a thankless job intending only to take from me as much as it can, directing the course of my own future takes the shape of an elusive and endless endeavor.

My goals constantly must be moved, excuses are repeatedly told to myself to quell the internal dissent, and my own happiness suffers at the hand of increasing stress, stress that even now keeps my stomach tied in knots and makes truly restful sleep a rare occurrence.

I won’t deny that I’ve probably allowed far too much angst to build up over the last few years.  It may also be true that I set myself up for failure by allowing my childlike excitement about writing to cloud my better judgment.  Did I mistakenly assume things would suddenly get better simply because I decided to do what I love to do and to make it a career?  Was I shortsighted in thinking such a transition might somehow prove simple and quick?  Perhaps.  Then again, perhaps not.

Expectations should drive you to live life, not stop you from living it.  One might say that is a rather profound elucidation of the obvious.  I wonder how many who would say that might also truthfully admit that they too have allowed non-voting members of their life (e.g., their jobs) to more ably control their destinies than they themselves.  You see, work tells us when we can and can’t tend to the affairs of a loved one, a decision which by its nature should rest solely in our own hands and not our employers’.  Work also demands a large quantity of our time, normally increasing amounts, and, even if surreptitiously, looks down upon us for wanting some of it back so that we might get out into the world and live.  It inundates us with forced failures and questions us in response.  It bloats itself on our successes and consumes whatever reward we deserve.  It compensates us with little more than cost-of-living increases while those high in the food chain take home six-figure salaries and bonuses, if not more.

If I am to be happy, self-actualization is necessary, and that is simply not happening right now.  My job is leeching from me all energy, will, determination, time, resources, spirit, joy, and comfort.  I know that I want to focus on my writing and hope to eventually make that my career.  Doing so requires that I have the ability to work on my writing now so that I might at some time in the future have my first manuscript ready.  If such writing finds an audience sufficient to support living, I can then continue writing and with all hope become a self-sufficient author without need for employment (i.e., working for someone else).

I  think it’s time for some changes.  I think it’s time for serious evaluation and subsequent decisions.  If I am to succeed at this thing called life, I alone must take the reigns and set the course of my own journey.  There are risks.  Ay, there are indeed risks.  That is part of the process, I know, and I must be willing to accept the consequences.  Will I be brave enough?