Cubicles compartmentalize pieces of a corporation, but they don’t compartmentalize people. One year ago my cubicle couldn’t contain me. Squinting at screens with blurred vision through wet eyes didn’t seem like how my first step into adulthood and my first real job would occur, and that professional pedestal–that next order of success–only served to make me feel even more estranged from myself.
I never wanted to go to college, and I never wanted the type of job I have now, which is the type that could carry me up to CEO of some big corporation one day. I hate saying that I don’t want these things because I am so aware of my pillow of privilege that I’ve always cuddled into each night. This is how religion captures a “soul.” “Meaningless, meaningless,” they say. They know, and what’s worse–I know, that I’ll never find satisfaction in this typical cycle of life. Their problem is that the scheme of religion offers nothing for me either but wishful thinking and intellectual loopholes. These thoughts turned into tears in my cubicle. They continue to drive my uneasiness today. Career success can’t hold me, cosmic purpose can’t hold me, and so I seek steady waves of joy when they come or when I can procure them myself. Existence is a psychological matrix.
It’s funny to think that we really only exist in order to survive, but I think that’s still where we are on the evolutionary spectrum. Here we are for no good reason, and yet we are driven by reason. Let’s make up a bunch of reasons so that we don’t drown in the absurdity of it all.
No, I’m not depressed. I’m just aware.