“We’ll get by.” I say that often, especially to myself. It has become a mantra: when life gets hard to handle, I breathe and keep going one day at a time, believing that we’ll get by one way or another. It has proved useful in keeping me grounded. It has helped me keep my grasp on the present, and avoid the spiraling sadness to which I’m prone.
But what happens when getting by isn’t enough anymore? What then? When you look around you, you take stock of your life, and it’s a paralyzing blur of non-moments and mediocrity.
I yearn for more. I want to live and feel alive. I want to feel unrestrained joy. I want to feel like what I’m doing with myself is meaningful. I want something to shake me awake and make me see that the struggles of living are worth every second.
It’s no longer enough to just actively avoid being sad. I don’t want to wake up forty years from now and realize that I’ve wasted my entire life.
I’m tired of getting by, and I’m tired of pretending that it’s enough.