For much of my life, I’ve been stymied by the question of what I was. I could tell people how I made my living, but I wasn’t sure how to define myself. I went through a serious identity crisis when I was 29 years old.
I had been operating a publishing company for about three years, but the company failed and I had to shut it down. It was the first major failure of my life, and it threw me into a tailspin. Up until that time, I had defined myself as a businessman and as a newspaper editor, but everything felt hollow at that point. I realized that I had a serious question: “What am I?”
I spent the next year in a general state of depression and despair. I’m not sure how I made it through that period. Nothing seemed to matter. And every day, the question from the face in the mirror mocked me: “Who are you, David?”
After considering and discarding a million ways of defining myself, I finally found an answer to my existential crisis, but that answer scared me even more than the nothingness of the depression had. It felt true, but I somehow felt like a fraud to say it. I was an artist.
All I wanted was to be your hero, but I still haven’t found my way
Would getting away from civilization help us live better?
Door in my dream keeps trying to take me to the life I’ve needed
You must walk away from past before you open door to future
Playing it safe isn’t good enough; I have to do things that might fail
Maybe looming defense cuts mean U.S. has to quit invading countries
Fear of possible violence keeps some people trapped by misery
Pursuing conscious life is harder than sleepwalking through a life