Tuesday, October 25, 2011

Years from now, when this economic hellscape subsides into a chapter in a history textbook—or continues to rage, effectively shuttering every last history textbook publisher on earth—I will look back and summarize it with a single adjective: mired. When this miasma was still fresh and new, I referred to iconic images from the Great Depression for guidance, particularly photographs of breadlines. We’re not quite there, yet, and at this current juncture, pictures of bear traps, swamps, and quicksand would be far more appropriate.

By rights, I should be thankful. I’ve got my health, a good job, meaningful relationships, a roof over my head, some coin in the bank. The inventory is full, empirically. But after some harrowing circumstances last week, gratitude is the last sentiment on my list, and in its place are some surlier emotions. I’ve found myself quicker to anger. Impatient. Restless. I briefly reverted to my old ways this weekend, in fact, when I deflected social calls to get shit-faced with the new Batman game. It wasn’t a hangover on Sunday morning so much as a gameover, if you will.

Above all, I feel lost. Where there was such surety before—a confident, clear path lined with optimism—there is now this feeling of being adrift, compass launched overboard in a storm-tossed sea. Ridiculous, I know, and part of the solution here is to take stock of all that I have, shake it off, and move forward. Rather than think of this recession as a trap, perhaps I need to regard it as a crucible from which I’ll emerge fire-tested and new.