As one of Nathan W. Pyle’s Strange Plant beings said recently, “I don’t know how to use my life.” I’m at one of those landmark life ages where there’s a strong desire to either enter hermitage or develop a problematic relationship with alcohol and run off with a 19-year old.
As the current economic climate renders alcoholism prohibitively expensive, and 19-year olds are currently a greater-than-usual risk to life and limb thanks to the coronavirus, it seems the hermitage option is probably the safest bet for the time being. As I have sufficient computer kit to run the games I want to, this shouldn’t be an issue, but I’m struggling to settle to anything at the moment. I have no goal, no aim.
Humans are games-playing creatures. We’re good at self-defining (often pointless) goals and (arbitrary) rules to achieve them. One can assume from this setup that what we’re after is the experience of playing the game, not attainment of the goal. So it’s ironic that without a goal (however pointless) there seems to be no point playing the game. This is where I find myself at the moment. I’ve tried a number of goals and rulesets for size, and nothing fits – I’m coming to the conclusion that it’s playing the game that doesn’t interest me. To use an old expression, “the game isn’t worth the candle”.
I don’t think this is depression; I’ve had depression in the past and this doesn’t feel like it. Someone said, “we don’t stop playing when we get old, we get old because we stop playing.” Maybe I’m just too old.