Apparently the Christmas season is a time of increased suicides. In part due to having to spend time with one’s family which for the remainder of the year you can successfully avoid. But also, probably in part to the overwhelming sense of loneliness that can result if you are single, or apart from those you love. I often feel a great melancholia overtake me due to being single. I never chose to be this way, but when people ask “So why aren’t you seeing someone?”, one wonders how it came to be like this.
But something that has been playing on my mind of late is something far more pervasive, and certainly not directly related to the festive season. I have a great sense of my mediocrity. And I hate it.
I am a mediocre singer. I am a mediocre dancer. I am a mediocre Physicist. I can do an average job of cooking and creative endeavours. I can make a plausible attempt at appearing well-rounded in my education. I can be moderately funny, and moderately interesting.
But deep, deep down, I feel like I am teetering on something more. I can’t help but think that there is something waiting just out of reach for me.
When I get stuck in traffic, I want to scream, as I realize that I am JUST LIKE EVERYONE ELSE. I hate public transport since it seems so average and normal. I am one of hundreds of thousands of women in their thirties wondering why they are alone. I am one of millions of people putting their little life out into cyber-space every day. I am an insignificant piece of carbon-based life form on one obscure corner of one obscure little planet in an unimportant solar system.
But one day, I hope, that like the butterfly in Chaos theory, I will make a big tornado somewhere.