I don’t know if there was ever a time when I looked forward to the future. Some of this is probably depression clouding my mind, by I remember quite early on in my life that I was afraid of building for the future. As early as elementary school, I was always afraid that Reagan would press the shiny red button and effectively erase history, but somehow, it never happened. Among other things, I am afraid of falling in love, because love can always be lost. I am afraid of bringing a child into this world, because the world is such a fucked up place run by clearly evil human beings. I am afraid of trying to succeed, because there are always fuckwits out there who have nothing better to do than to see you fall on your ass, and point and laugh. And I am afraid of trying to succeed, because, ultimately, human beings tend to be selfish, and however noble my intentions are, they will likely fuck someone else’s life up, and the only rational thing for them to do is oppose me.

And I know, in the coldest, calculating part of my brain, that normal people don’t have these sort of hang-ups, and the cynical side of me thinks that this is because most people couldn’t give a fuck and don’t have enough brains and imagination to realize the pitfalls of their lives, but the logical, emotionless side of me recognizes that a lot of this is, again, my depression, and, essentially, that I am quite abnormal in my fears and anxiety.

(And the irony is that I’m not all that afraid that some brown people are gonna hijack the next jetliner I’m on. The odds of that happening are infinitesimal compared to the probability that I’m going to die in a flaming car crash someday.)

And I know a lot of people would say that I’m just pessimistic, and that I need to look on the bright side of life, but all I can seem to do is dwell on the bad parts of the last 30 years, and wonder what the hell I have to show for it all.

OK, I lie. I have exactly three things to show, all of them pieces of paper: one saying that I’m an M.D., one saying that I’m licensed to practice medicine in California, and one saying that I can prescribe dope. But, except for those three things (only one of which can’t ever be taken away from me, no matter how criminal or insane I become), I’ve got pretty much diddly-squat.

I realize that a lot of this is my fault. Over the past two years, I’ve managed to lose touch with quite a few friends. Part of this is the insanity of my schedule, and another part of this is my rampant depression which keeps me from doing the things that I’d like to do in oh-so-many ways, but the brainwashed, Catholic part of me keeps feeling guilty for all the things I haven’t done, and the guilt leaves me in a never-ending spiral of depression, more guilt, and even more depression, with the only way out of this existential hell being the fact that I am way too chickenshit to actually off myself.

I think if I actually kept the friends I have (because they are really good people, and I’m lucky to have them), I’d probably be OK. If I had someone in my life that I could have coffee or a drink with maybe once a week or so, to shoot the shit, and to let them know what the hell is going on in my life, if only there was someone I could decompress to once in a while, maybe I’d find some kind of balance. But here we are again talking about “what if.”

Instead, every week that passes is another millstone around my neck, and I’m trying damned hard to keep my head above water, and I think that maybe I can keep this up for another thirty years if I had to, but, damn, it’s kind of a dismal existence. The only real thing that’s keeping me up is the fear of drowning, and I have a feeling that that’s not really what life is about.

So, tell me, how do I do more than just survive?

Voltaire, through the character Candide in the book of the same name, talks about tending the garden, which honestly makes a lot of sense to me. I’m not going to save the world, I’m not going to cure cancer, or find the solution for world peace. The world is far too complex for any one person alone to have that kind of impact. (And I say “one person alone,” not “one person, who inspires another person, who inspires yet another person”—this is the way change occurs, this is the way revolution starts.) I do fantasize about being that first domino that falls, but, as I get older, the nearest domino I can tip over is becoming farther and farther away. As I grow older, I become more and more isolated (and yes I know it’s my own damn fault)

But what I want to know is how to plant the garden in the first place, because the weeds and the vermin are already infesting the field I’d like to plant it in, and big agribusiness and big developers are coming my way.

(Man, I’m so cheerful. What the hell is wrong with me?)

But it all comes to simple goals, and the way I’m feeling tonight, I’m still afraid of failing even these little things. Despite continually lowering my expectations of myself, I still feel like I’m going to fall short.

My wish: to be able to go sleep one night and say to myself, “I can’t wait for tomorrow to start.” If I can get myself into the habit of doing that, maybe this solitary, one-dimensional life of mine can still be salvaged.