If there are no endings, can there be beginnings?

The question foremost in my mind is: what do I want to do with my life? After 26 years of formal education, I am finally going to have to face the Real World™, and, despite everything I’ve been through, I still look at it with some apprehension.

You would think that my goals would be pretty concrete at this point, but the only real thing I’ve got on my plate is that I have a profession. Outside of that, everything is pretty much up for grabs and undefined. Where will I live? What—in exact terms—is my job going to be like? What other goals will I have?

I’ve tried to be optimistic these days. Truth be told, except for the fact that my cousin died almost a year ago, this year was actually pretty decent. I had some tough months, but nothing that was extremely excruciating. (At worst, it might’ve been moderately excruciating.) I suppose the things that I regret is that I’ve done rather poorly with keeping in touch with friends, and I’ve done rather badly with things outside of my professional life.

But, despite this attempt at optimism, I keep having this feeling that the world that I know is slowly collapsing around me. In 2002, I remember dancing on the second floor of John Barleycorn in Wrigleyville, drunk off my ass, thinking how I was living in decadence, as the Republic fell apart around me. I suppose it really isn’t a collapse. It’s more like melting. Like I’m living in a castle made out of ice, with the sun sitting directly overhead.

This year, we have the possibility of crossing a historic threshold: we’ll elect either a white woman, or a black man as President of the United States. Especially after reading Barack’s speeches, I want to be hopeful.

But I keep fearing the forces of reaction are going to fuck things up somehow. Like the assassination of Benazir Bhutto.

The dollar keeps falling. The repercussions of the subprime mortgage fiasco have yet to be completely felt.

And the whole American Dream™—the whole goal of capitalism—seems to be stale and crumbling. The whole idea of having a house, getting married, having 2 cars, having 2.5 children—seems awfully self-parodic and a little insane.

But where do you go next? What is the Right Thing™ to do?