The last few weeks have been a struggle for clarity and stability.

Brief, tantalizing glimpses of truth interspersed between hours of monotonous confusion.

Moments of zen-like calm juxtaposed with the ache of pain and loss.

The shock of being jolted awake from terror; heart pounding, sweating, shaking.

In a sense, I’m paying off the emotional debt of a lifetime in a very short time. For so long I was used to boxing up my feelings and shoving them aside in order to get on with what I thought was important, as I ran towards a destination that moved farther away the more I tried to reach it. A destination that I finally had to concede didn’t really exist.

The questions at the heart of it all are who are you and what are you doing.

For years I answered these questions with simple, practical answers. I had a role, I had a purpose. I identified myself by my job, by my skills, by being a father, a husband, a son, and a brother. My mind is quick to dissect the flaws of an argument, but in a pretty monumental case of hubris I managed to blind myself from any critical thoughts on myself.

Until recently. The center cannot hold. Yeats’ words ring in my mind as I stare off into space, contemplating existence and what, if any, point there is to it.

Who am I? Anymore, I’m not sure. For so long, I was able to pick up and wear the mask or costume that I needed to slide through any situation. Never comfortable with myself, I would become a different person for different situations, to the point where I would lose touch with what was really me and what was artifice.

What am I doing? I still don’t have an answer there. For most of my life, I did what needed to be done and convinced myself that in doing so I was fulfilling a purpose. More money, a bigger house, cars, material things. Helping my family get through problems. Supporting others. Doing whatever others needed or wanted. Never quite stopping or thinking about what it is that I wanted to do, which has taken things to the point they are now where thinking about what I want results in…nothing. Tabula rasa.

There have been a select few that I’ve let inside, a peek beyond the curtain, or a carefully guided tour. Even fewer that have been given access without guidance. Yet, for the most part I remain reactive to the world around me, largely due to a sense of confusion and futility about being any other way. As things get more confused, my natural tendency is to push people away, so as not to take them down with me.

I’ve begun to wonder if a full reset is the way to go; a move, a new job, a new life. Part of me thinks that may help, part of me feels that it would just be a rehash of the same story, where once I get things stable the same old ennui would seep into my life.