We all lie to ourselves. Sometimes, we tell the truth.

I realized something profound on Monday that shut me down. Something that has been brewing for some time, way down deep in the inner labyrinth of a data center that is my inner-self:

God exists.
God loves me.
My pain and desires may never warrant his immediate attention or response.

This proclamation will offend my religious friends and surprise the agnostics and atheists in my life. (One of them last week said, “You actually believe this stuff!”, after observing an open Bible on my desk.)

I’m one of those weirdos that believes in God and science. Even weirder, I’m a Christian Democrat. Yes, Catholics are Christians, and yes, many Christians aren’t Republicans.

And so as Monday came and went, this realization lingered. It stayed with me all day Tuesday. Today is Wednesday and here I am writing again to see if I can get back to dreaming and doing.

I had to think about it: who was it that taught me we get what we pray for?

Billions of people with much bigger problems have called and continue to call on God. Many, to no avail. Does it mean God doesn’t love us or hear us? Or does it simply mean God has accepted our fate and maybe we should, too?

My inner-Oprah isn’t having it.

She’s reminding me that we design our own lives. Manifest destiny and whatnot. But today, I’m not having that either. It’s a full-on existential crisis in the center of a global meltdown.

When I get stuck in a place like this, I have to dig deep and determine if I’m willing to weather one more day of freezing wind and rain out on the open sea that is my life as an explorer and entrepreneur. And it’s when I go to a place like this, there’s nothing else that makes me feel so alone in the universe.

Are we alone in the universe? I can’t say.

Do I feel alone in my mental/emotional/spiritual universe? Yes. I do.

So many people my age (50!) have acquired massive stockpiles of wisdom and experience and creativity. And yet, the world appears to be so overwhelmed with the chaos of modern life that it seldom indicates it either wants or needs what we have to offer. There are newer, shinier, cheaper options! All disposable, of course.

This overwhelming form of rejection creates a certain dilemma for dreamers like me:

Do I check out (or get forced out) and “spend more time with family”?
Do I hunt and fish and golf or play tennis or whatever the fuck business veterans are suppose to do once they’ve reached a certain age or milestone?
Or do I simply disappear to Wyoming or escape into gardening, or travel as AARP would suggest?

I say, “No!”, to all the above. No way in hell will I spend the remainder of my life allowing anyone—individually, corporately, or culturally—to determine my path, purpose, or worth.

And while I have no idea what this next chapter of my life will look like, or feel like …

“Will I experience love again?”

“Will I make another discovery that saves a life or reverses the destruction of our planet?”

… I will lay my head on my pillow tonight, Wednesday night, and accept this one certain truth:

The world needs me as much as I need it. And with this, I shall befriend myself, another day, and be me.