Unhappy and Scared...Now What?

I'm unhappy. And scared. Unhappy and scared. There, I said it. I was driving home from Dallas this morning, and I had a little come-to-Jesus with myself in the car, and I finally got myself to admit that I am both of these things.

Here's the thing. I've been unhappy and scared my entire life. I'm sure it's because I didn't get the love I needed as a child, blah, blah, blah. Whatever. The point is that I've always figured I was trying very hard to outrun unhappiness (the fear has been all-consuming, all my life, so I've never run from it, so much as I've avoided any and every situation where pain might actually occur--it's practically pathological). Then this morning it dawned on me, I've never outrun unhappiness, it's not like it's nipping at my heels, it's there. I'm in the thick of it, and always have been. And it's not depression, it's something more fundamental than that. It was actually kind of a relief to realize nothing's chasing me, though it's a bummer to realize the thing I thought I was running from actually caught me and gobbled me up a long, long, long time ago.

So then I started asking myself why I'm unhappy and scared. I couldn't figure why I'm scared, though the thing that scares me most is pain in every form--emotional, mental, physical (and in this respect, running and cycling are quite therapeutic, because I have to force myself to face pain and push through it--still, I rarely push as hard as I think I could). So I left the fear thing alone and focused on why I'm unhappy. I couldn't figure that out right away, either, so instead I turned the question around and started thinking about what makes me happy (come on, even the unhappiest of people has a happy moment now and then, I'm not THAT far gone). The list of things that make me happy is very short, actually, so short I'm not even going to write it down. But what was more interesting to me was that some of the things I thought would be on the list of things that make me happy, weren't. There were three or four notable exclusions, but I only feel inclined to share two: my career and running. The career thing isn't all that surprising. I never dreamed of a career in business, it was a default choice, at the very, very bottom of the list of things I would have chosen to do with my college education. I was thinking about this yesterday. I want to make partner in my firm. But then what? I don't want to run the company. I don't even want to run my practice area. There are a couple of reasons I want to make partner, but the biggest and stupidest one is that it's logically next. I mean, seriously, what do I do for an encore, given that I don't want to run the company or my practice or even my office? I don't want to move to another firm after that or start my own business. I suppose I just want to make a pile of money so I can quit being a partner and go do something I might enjoy. How dumb is that??

Anyway, the career thing wasn't surprising, like I said. The running thing was. Someone asked me once why I run. It took me two and a half years to land on the answer. The answer is that when I run, I am the truest and best version of myself. I love me when I run, I love who I am when I'm out there. There are no defenses, no self-consciousness, no arrogance, no doubts, no shyness, no fear (except the thing about pain, but even that dissipates somewhat). In the moment, I am happy, not because I'm running, but because of who I become when I'm running. I become me.

But the act of running? I don't like it all that much. I don't like the measures of success, either--PRs, awards, how you finished in a race, what the clock says when you cross the line. I think I dislike all of these things, because I didn't choose to run. There's a boatload of psycho-babble behind this one, just suffice it to say, I didn't start running in junior high by choice, I didn't keep at it in high school by choice, and I sure as shit didn't do it in college by choice (I also didn't do it well, but that's another story...). Still, I'm glad I did it, I'm glad I found running, or maybe that running found me. It's through running that I understand better who I am at the deepest level, and it's through running that I find happiness--I mean real, genuine happiness.

But now I'm getting all syrupy about running when I don't mean to--especially given that I have kind of a love/hate relationship with it. I think the point, at least for today (getting back to the concept of being an unhappy and scared person) is that choice matters. At least to me. And there are an awful lot of things about my life, I'm realizing, that either I didn't choose, or else I chose by default or, worse, out of fear. This is a sucky epiphany to have, but I suppose I'm glad to have had it at all. I guess the next big question is, what the fuck do I do now?

Hmmm...