I sit here with my double tall diet coke and vodka (thanks Taylor Swift for the drink suggestion). When I traipsed into the local watering hole I intended to write about how my day at my software job went. I have decided to not do that, and instead rant about how irrelevant I have become. Was I ever relevant to begin with?

What does “relevant” even mean

Is it the effect we have on others? Is it how we feel about ourselves, or about what we believe? Is it how others perceive us? This balmy little planet has become an amalgamation of the result of hundreds of years of history repeating itself, inevitably. They say those who do not study history are doomed to repeat it; I am not sure about that.

I think people desire attention, and when they are not getting attention they resort to fanatacism, to extremism, because that foray into some highly publicized cause (whatever it may be) makes them “relevant” again and it gives them the attention they crave. Mind you, this is not a blanket statement; some really do believe in the absurd without possessing the desire to be “noticed”.

I am not shiny anymore

When I was 26, I thought I was beautiful, and I was, at least in my mind. With that belief came the regular vanity that plagues every young person who looks even remotely attractive.

With that vanity came the idea that the attention I received would carry into my 30’s; what I discovered, and what millions have discovered before me, is that I was a flash in the pan.

I was an anomaly for a brief moment in time, and then the world moved on to something else. Something more shiny.

I’m not freaking out, you’re freaking out

What do we move on to when our 5 minutes of fame are over and we have gained 80 pounds and work at a desk job? What is supposed to bring us excitement and joy? The routine and the day-to-day is terrifying. Will my little light go out if I buy a house and become a mother of two? Do I even want children?

How can I rekindle the spark in me that I had when I was 26? I lived and loved to the fullest, and now I’m a shell of what was there before.

How to become excited about life again?

Does our self worth come from everyone else and how they see us? In a way, yes. But in so many other ways, no. When I was singing on stage in my band, I was living, I was doing what I loved to do. At times it felt like I was floating above the audience, just drinking it all in and feeling pure joy.

The audience was enjoying it, and that helped me enjoy it all the more. I wanted to bring music to people, and I wanted to share it with everyone. Since then I have never felt that joy again.

What to do?

History is not full of people who slept late and did the bare minimum. History is riddled with go-getters, with people who sometimes didn’t sleep for days because of how excited for life they were.

I also believe that history is chock full of partially disturbed people. You have to be a little crazy to make history. Maybe I need a dose of crazy.