One of my cousins whom I grew up with just got married today, and I remember sort of zoning out, thinking about the possibility of someday getting married, which I find utterly ridiculous since I’m not in a relationship.

I also randomly thought of Sidney Carton, the doomed, damned sad-sack who is the ultimate hero of A Tale of Two Cities. I’ve been told by two different women that I remind them of him. (I’ve also been told by others that I remind them of Miles from “Sideways,” but anyway.)

I’m not sure what it is about Carton that is congruent with me. I suppose it could be the pessimistic fatalism, or maybe the aura of wasted potential. (I do sometimes wonder what I could’ve accomplished with my life if I didn’t have the weaknesses that I do. Not that I’m doing terribly now, but I still wonder.)

I suppose there is also that sense that whatever could’ve made me happy was in the past, and long gone. I missed whatever chance I had, and there’s pretty much nothing else to look forward to at this point.

No, I am not a cheerful person.

But I watched my cousin and his (now) wife, and I just laughed to myself. It’s absurd to even think about having to make those kinds of decisions, when there are so many, many barriers in the way. I think I’ve been fooling myself for too long, that I was going to live a conventional life, married, with kids, buying a house, and all that. I’ve been wandering <p>terra incognita</p> for a long time now, and I’ve long strayed from the beaten path, I think.

Which leads me to the idea of being lost. It occurred to me that if you’re in the middle of nowhere, but you have no intention of going back to whereever you came from, that’s not really being lost. “Lost” only makes sense in the context of not being able to go back to where you’ve been.

At least that’s what the definition of wayfinding would seem to imply, since wayfinding involves the process of (1) knowing where you are (2) knowing where you want to go (3) figuring out the best way to get there and back. So if you have no intention of going back, then you can’t really be lost.

I feel very much like John the Baptist these days, wandering around like a madman in the desert wearing nothing but a loincloth. (I’ve no aspirations for sainthood, although I do have this awful premonition that I will someday be killed in terrible way for no good reason.)

I should just go insane, and get it over with. At least then I won’t be lonely. There’ll always be the voices in my head.