Lost in America

I went to bed somewhat hopeful, having had a conversation with a friend and co-worker who was distraught and agitated. 

It was late, but I invited him over for a beer. We talked a bit. I listened. 

And told him I was committed. I was here for him – for everyone – until September. 

The decision has been made – I felt good about it – and I repeated it: I’d give Wyoming a year. That’s fair. Anyone can do anything for a year.

A night of tossing and turning, bad dreams, fears revisited and I woke up lost. And alone. 

There are no crossroads, it seems. As I write this (and that is a big disclaimer), I feel no forward momentum. 

Just lost. 

Confused. 

It’s not supposed to be like this. This isn’t the life I envisioned for myself. 

And before I spiral into more darkness and self-doubt and loathing, I needed to say this. All of this. Get it out. 

Feels whiny. 

And looking around, yeah, I have it pretty good. Better than most. 

The view from the darkness is painful.