A letter from May 18, 2025

Dear FutureMe, Isn't it funny how you know you need to cry but if you try to make yourself cry it doesn't work because you're a 34-year-old man and you're hard wired to immediately redirect the crying energy the second it rises in your chest. I just read a public letter on this website and it give me the wretching feeling where the tears want to come out but they didn't. I'm in a very nice part of the world, I'm safe, I'm healthy, but I put so much pressure on myself to get everything right that I'm not the least bit present in this moment and I'm very tense and upset and sad and confused and lonely and I just won't go easy on myself. Not until I 'figure it all out'. Not until I have some forward momentum with my career and I can figure out where to live (but I know I shouldn't go home). Not until I get a glimmer of romance with a beautful woman to remind myself of the electric feeling of purpose that comes from providing for someone you think is incredible. Not until I give myself a ******* break from all of the above. Why does it have to be like this? I read 4,000 Weeks by Oliver Burkeman who perfectly diagnoses every psychological loophole I inadvertently torture myself with yet I can't learn the lesson just from reading it (I have to live it to learn the lesson). I socialise, I travel, I keep fit, I keep healthy. Is a silent retreat a good bet? Is absolutely nothing a good bet? Do I accept the my position as a spoiled wanderer or remember that I attempt to live with purpose and I don't want to rest on my laurels? Do I see what it's like to actually BE the thing I'm scared of being (lazy) and play it out to its natural conclusion, because how can I live in fear as a man? Why am I even scared of ending up like that? It's ********. It's ******* ********. I wish I knew what it was like to not have the privileges I have so I have something to overcome. But I do have something to overcome. My overthinking mind. My self-criticism. The tendency for depression in the male bloodline of my family. I get regularly glimpses of joy and beauty then it gets pissed away in a matter of moments. At what point do I start praying to a higher power? Do I worship the psycho-***** that is mother nature, with all her whims? The Stoics did. What the ****, man? If you read this (public audience, I'm looking at you) and hate me, good. You're hating the part of yourself that relates to what I said. If you read this and love me... Anyway, moving on. Word of advice - if you want to be safe, go lie in the coffin. Peace and *******. Beauty will save us.