Existential Crisis/Human Condition

When anticipating a weekend in Palm Spring with a group of her closest girlfriends, one expects to return home feeling refreshed, rejuvenated, and relaxed. I, sadly, returned from one such weekend feeling exhausted, depleted, and upset. In fact, I doubt there has ever been an experience that has come so close to sending me into crisis, and by crisis, I mean existential... like Sartre-style devastation. The weekend impressed upon me the burden, the pressure, and the unrelenting weight of my solitude. I know that some people feel this weight pressing down upon them throughout life and ease that tension by incessantly seeking out lovers (the serial monogamists among us), that others are some how able to compartmentalize this tension by ignoring it or pretending to be unaffected by its presence (the eternal bachelors or commitment-phobs of the world), that others relieve the tension by believing in a god that is ever-present (within them, surrounding them, guiding them and thus preventing them for ever experiencing the starkness of being utterly alone in this existence), and that others, the more creative types, still manage to find ways to cope with the reality that we are, in fact, alone. Regardless of the categories into which we all fall, there are times when we feel overjoyed with love and abundance, and there are times when we feel the desolateness of our island. Whether it be god or lovers or friends or parents or mentors, we have all, at some point, felt let down, felt abandoned, felt alone. I am one who has accepted the state of my existential crisis; I am one who embraces the human condition: that we come into this world alone, we exit this world alone, and everything in between is only ours to really experience and feel. However, I am certainly not above admitting when I am in need of something more, something to help me cope, something beyond my ability to rationalize or make bearable my situation. Leaving this particular weekend with the girls was one such moment. And yet, despite my acceptance of my infinite solitude (which appears with great force in moments of intense anguish and/or disappointment) and despite the self-induced numbness I have been known to use as treatment for those occasions when the infinite solitude strikes with a hard blow, I am somehow able to muster up the humility required to admit my weakness: that I still have a choice about how to deal with it all, and I can choose to seek restoration, I can choose to find solace.