I've always been a russophile. Loved the Romanovs, especially Anastasia. Loved Russian literature (except "Fathers and Sons" - awful, awful book). Loved beef stroganoff.
I'd like to think this is all based on my love of the color red and names like Zarya (which I totally want people to start calling me, but it's never caught on) and palaces and Catherine the Great (who, let's face it, was a total stud).
I'm afraid, though, that it stems a lot more from my tendency toward melancholy. There's something about Russian nihilism and fatalism that speaks to me. Because life often feels like a slog. A tough, unpleasant, pointless slog. It is very, very easy for me to get caught up in feeling that there is just no rhyme or reason for anything and that we're just moving from day to day until we die. And it's frankly a little exhausting. No, a lot exhausting. (Number one reason why I can't believe in some post-earth eternal life? Because the idea of not ever being done stresses me out beyond belief.)
I've been struggling with this a lot lately, this question of what is the point? What's it all for? I wake up every day in my house that I own (though not really as it could be taken away from me if I lost my job and failed to make a payment or two). I go to work, at a job that is contributing to society, so there's that. I eat lunch and I work out and I watch television or read or knit. Often, I have dinner or drinks with friends. I raise money for charity. I go on the occasional trip.
But it all feels so small, so monotonous. And more than a little pointless. (Honestly, if I believed in past lives, I would believe this was serious hangover from being a Russian nihilist.)
When I was 22 and unhappy with my work, I quit and got myself a new job. When I was 23 and scared of getting satisfied with that job, I set my sights on law school. When I graduated from law school, I had a whole career opening in front of me. But now I've got the my dream job. I've got my house and the dog I've always wanted. I feel like I'm out of things to work toward, so I don't really know where to go from here. There has to be something, though. Because I don't think I can take another 20 or so years of this before retiring, when I would just be even more bored.
While I hate that stupid Jack Nicholson-Helen Hunt movie, there's one line that speaks to me. What if this really is as good as it gets? Ugh. If that's the case, someone just shoot me now. Which proves that I'm really not Russian, because a true Russian would just resignedly accept her fate. :)
So if you've ever been in a life funk like this, what did you do to bust out of it?