The meaning of life or something

Do you ever feel like the things you do don't matter?

I mean, not your marriage or your child-rearing (if you feel like those don't matter that's a really serious problem and I'm sorry and I hope you can get some assistance with that). I mean, the other noise that swirls around you every day. I sit in on meetings about things that seem so entirely pointless. I internally berated myself for like twenty minutes tonight because I'm SO. STINKING. CLOSE to breaking 5MPH on my runs and I just cannot get there (tonight I was at 4.86 at 60 minutes and yes, I know that's not fast but I used to weigh 213lbs more than I do today so the fact that I can run at all is a freaking blessed miracle from the Lord Jesus so keep that nonsense to yourself, please and thank you). I spend so much time doing things that seem just so...meaningless.

I spent over 30 hours of my life on the phone last week, talking about everything from strategic planning to the fact that someone was annoyed because they felt someone else didn't have the appropriate reaction to an email. What does strategic planning even really mean? It sounds like a bunch of nonsense words. Why does someone care that much about someone else's reaction to an email? Hurricanes and fires are battering the world around us, people are dying because they can't afford their medication, children are actually starving to death in the "land of opportunity" and...people are concerned and angry, literally angry about an email.

An email.

Doesn't that just seem...ridiculous?


I mean, I'm ridiculous too, berating myself over not being "fast enough" or "good enough" or feeling constantly like a worthless piece of crap. I should be like, "YES, I CAN ACTUALLY RUN AND MOVE MY BODY NOW! I AM MOTHERFRACKING BEYONCE KNOWLES!" But I don't. I'm mad at myself for not being better. I wear single digit sizes and instead of being like, "YES, YOU HAVE WORKED SUPER HARD AND YOU USED TO BE A SIZE TWENTY-EIGHT AND YOU ARE MOTHERFRACKING BEYONCE, YAAAAS QUEEN!" I look in the mirror and see only loose skin and my stretch-marked belly and feel like I'm just not ever going to be where I need to be, no matter what I do.


It's so stupid. It's all just so insanely stupid.


I've started writing again and for the first time in like a hundred million years I'm actually happy with the words on the page. Still, I'm full of doubt. What if people don't think it's good? What if it's too controversial? What if it just completely sucks?

What difference does it make if other people don't think it's good? Why can't it just be enough that *I* think it's good and I have joy in writing it?


I don't know man. This stuff all feels really heavy these days.