Why do we do this?

A conversation I had with my boyfriend last night >>

Me: Why do we do this?

Boyfriend: What do you mean?

Me: This. Any of this? We spend our days plugging numbers into charts, FWD:ing updates that we know will go unread, and answering questions with questions to buy ourselves time just so we can get to happy hour, or make it to the weekend so we can take pictures of our baby and actually enjoy ourselves. Why do we stress, when in reality, we know we’re just sending another email in a sea of other emails to buy ourselves some time to send the other emails?

Boyfriend: I think you’re questioning the meaning of life?

Me: No. I fully believe that does not exist, so I’m asking why we do this to ourselves?

Boyfriend: I’m not disagreeing, but I’m worried.

[Fade to black]

To be fair, we were watching picturesque cinematography of Iceland, and I became increasingly irritated that somehow society convinced me I needed to spend money on an oversized portrait of Paris to make my overpriced apartment feel less bleak. It’s only October 2nd, and I’m already wondering how long I can last until a bout of Seasonal Affective Disorder forces me to drag our Christmas decorations out of the unnecessary third closet that would have served better as an extension to our thimble-sized bathroom in an attempt to reignite the flame of hope inside my frosty heart. Privilege, am I right?

And while watching the oceanic waves crash on the rocky cliffs of Iceland, I questioned why the images on my HDTV made me feel calmer than...well...any human interaction I’d experienced recently.

When I was an actor/waiter, I could at least justify my interactions with humans as being with people who were genuinely trying to enjoy themselves by consuming self-gratuitous art and debauched brunches.

Listen, this is not a cry for help, nor is it an attempt to encourage the millennials who only smoke when they drink to actually commit to something that doesn’t involve a dependable paycheck. In fact, most times I have these existential breakdowns, I’m on the cusp of something great.

I can’t give an example of that, but I truly feel it inside of this sip of red wine. This has happened before. Check the archives.

Anyway, what I want to say is this:

Wake up. Look in the mirror. Remember who you are. There might be a while when you feel like you’re not that person, but don’t forget you really - and I mean actually, impossibly - are incapable of being somebody else. One time, at a Halloween party I hosted post-Hurricane Sandy, I learned from this drunk girl that pursuing a new path is not abandoning a dream. (My boyfriend called this a “sunk cost.” Don’t know what that is, but he goes to UChicago, so maybe helpful?)

And if you feel like you’re wasting your fleeting youth for a while doing this, just remember that two years ago I was walking to the Los Angeles Metro listening to Fergie. And I’m still very pretty.

Two years from now, who’s to say?

I’ll probably be single again,

TJB: Making It