The existential crisis flu seems to be going around.

I had it last week, and my partner K is feeling it this week.  He may have caught it from me, but he also suspects his clients have infected him.  He’s a psychotherapist, and he’s been seeing a lot of bad cases of it in his practice.  

Every day someone shows up in his office who’s suffering from symptoms of extreme anxiety, worry about the future, self-doubt and even despair and hopelessness.  People are wondering what life is really about, what they should be doing with themselves, and what they can count on.

The state of the economy is the obvious culprit to finger for all this angst, and many of these people have lost money in the stock and housing markets, and some have lost jobs, but on the whole, they are as well or better off than most Americans, even now.  Far more than their bank balances can account for, their sense of security has been stripped away, taking with it the layers of comfortable denial that we humans normally cocoon ourselves in, leaving us all to face what we have made of our lives.  

And that’s precisely the question that's been on my mind, too.

I do have money worries – I’ve lost about half my retirement savings and I’m searching for a job as the part-time gig I have ends soon.  But as I tossed and turned with the ache that my existential virus caused me this past week, I knew that money wasn’t what was bothering me.  

To be honest, I’ve been a little distracted from the financial mess by a health issue that took a while to get diagnosed – now that I’m getting better, I have the energy to worry about other things.  It’s the old Maslow hierarchy of needs.  Once my survival was assured, I could move on up the ladder to worrying about security or even self-actualization.

For me, the latter involves a classic case of mid-life reassessment.  A couple of years ago, I quit a job that paid well but involved 12-hour workdays and not much personal fulfillment.  As I said when I left it, I wanted to find work that was “closer to home and closer to my heart.”  

So for the past couple of years, I’ve been working part-time from home and trying to write more, as well as sell a book I’ve written.  But it hasn’t gone the way I’d hoped, even as no fewer than three people close to me have sold their books during that time.

And the thing is, I haven’t felt jealous – what I’ve felt is not good enough, and that’s a very old and deep feeling for me.  What I’ve been up against is not just anguish over thwarted ambitions, but grappling with my entire sense of self.

And just as I began to focus less on my creative ambitions and put my energy into searching for a full-time job that might bring more satisfaction than my last one, the stock market crashed and recession set in. (For some odd reason, I only have to look for jobs during recessions.  The first time was when I graduated from college in 1980, and the second was during the dotcom bust that devastated the local economy here.  Perhaps third time’s a charm.)  

So when a friend asked recently how my quest for meaningful work was going, I said that at this point I’ll feel lucky just to find a decent job.  Unfortunately, that’s the outcome of looking for work only when times are tough – you take what you can get and feel damn grateful, and the hell with self-actualization and actual job satisfaction.  

I’ve been down that road three times already, and it’s why I’m 50 years old and still haven’t found truly meaningful work yet, despite having figured out quite a while ago what would satisfy me – which turn out to be things like writing that I can do as an avocation but which making a living at is beyond hard.  (Actually I have made a living doing business writing, and would again, but that’s not quite what I’m talking about.)

And in a recession – well, forget about it.  As I said to friends when I looked for a job during the last one, you can’t redefine yourself in hard economic times.

And yet I do feel incredibly grateful for my life.  I’m getting back to being healthy, I have great friends and family, I live with a wonderful man I love, and in a fantastic place.  I have skills and abilities that have value to employers, and I should be able to find a job eventually, even in a state with one of the highest rates of unemployment.

So while my bout of existential flu briefly laid me low, it was already passing when Natasha Richardson’s death wiped the last traces of it from my mind.

Here was a woman who truly had everything:  Fame, fortune, talent, intelligence, beauty, family, love, vitality, happiness, professional success and acclaim.  And yet, in an instant, it was all taken away.  One day, she appeared far more fortunate and blessed than I was – and the next, our situations were reversed.  By the simple fact that I am alive, I am better off than a woman who seemed to have everything a human being could hope for.

Yesterday I saw a news story listing public statements made by those who had known her, and after reading several wrenchingly heartfelt appreciations from grief-stricken colleagues and friends, it ended with this:

"I just want to say how deeply saddened I am, we all are, by the sudden passing of actress Natasha Richardson yesterday. Our thoughts and prayers are with her husband Liam Neeson, their two sons, the rest of their family and friends. Yet another reminder of how fleeting life can be and how precious. We need to value every moment." — Oprah Winfrey, on her talk show.

Reading this, I thought, Oh, Oprah.  Why do you have to use every occasion to tell other people how to live?  Why is it always about the wisdom that you are here to impart to the world?  Why not say something like, “It makes me realize that I still don’t value every moment of my life. That despite all my fame, wealth and privilege, I don’t value what I have as much as I should?”  Why not speak just for yourself rather than lecturing others?  

“Get over yourself, Oprah,” I thought.  And then, with a chuckle:  “Get Oprah yourself!”

And that’s what I have to do, too.  Get Oprah myself.  

To keep the eyes on the prize, as the old saying goes – the prize I’ve already won, that’s here in my home, and in my heart.

As a truly wise woman, Dorothy Gale, once said, “I learned that the next time I go looking for my heart’s desire, I won’t look any further than my own backyard.  Because if it’s not there, then I never really lost it in the first place.”

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