log six

I’m not sure what to write about today. Like I said, I’m lacking in inspiration. I am terribly enjoying the stint of ordinariness that has overcome me as of late, and at the same time I feel slightly disconnected from any sense of purpose or meaning to my own actions.

I like being static, but staying in such a state means that there is no chance for improvement, and doesn’t every sound-minded person naturally desire to get better, in some form? I suppose I feel like I’ve reached a better stage of motionlessness. I have a job, I volunteer, I do well enough in school, and I write in my spare time. I read when I’m free. I live cleanly, I’m modest, I don’t poke my nose into other peoples’ business. Is that enough, really? What more is there to living the way I live?

It’s just a little funny that I’m able to say all of this just because I’ve got so much free time. It’s a wonderful example of an insensitive first-world problem. Either way, I’m enjoying myself, so everything seems to be fine. At this age, is it just a constant slope towards betterment?

Truly, the issue is that I can’t find a passion for anything.

Successful passion projects irk me to such an awful extent. How is it that someone my age, or someone younger than me, which is far worse, has managed to find something that pulls them in enough to dedicate their entire existence to it? It sounds like a nightmare. Whether or not it’s really that bad or it’s just my inflated sense of envy speaking on my behalf will remain a mystery. I derive comfort, at least, from surrounding myself with people that seem to have no ambitions. If they do have ambitions, they certainly don’t show it, and from my selfishly narrow perspective it would be the same no matter which it was.

Selfishness is an epidemic. Rather, I could call it the most distinctly human quality. Everyone is born with it and they will never let it go. For example, I’ve reached a point to which I understand the actions of ‘bad’ parents, like my own. They’re not objectively bad, really. But how could anyone be a perfectly good parent? It’s impossible. The transformation into that sort of perfect figure can only be undergone by sacrificing selfishness, the redeeming human element. A ‘bad’ parent is simply a human that didn’t let go of selfishness. They retained their sense of self, which was terribly flawed as it is for everyone, and the children they raised were left to suffer as a result. Hurray for generational trauma. It seems I really did convince myself that it’d be okay to prioritize myself in a parental relationship just to preserve my own sense of- not humanity, rather, humanly qualities. How awful.

Maybe I shouldn’t have kids. I know I will, but maybe I shouldn’t. I am too inherently selfish. At the end of the day, I will really only care about myself. That brings up the fear of romance, too, but that’s a separate topic…

I should write about myself. Loretta. Really.