What could I possibly be struggling with.
I'm having the hardest year of my life and I can't tell a single person because none of it sounds like a real problem.
I tried once. Called my oldest brother on a Tuesday night. He'd just come off a double shift. I could hear his kids in the background. He asked how I was and I started to say something honest. Got half a sentence out. He laughed and said "must be nice" and moved on to telling me about his water heater breaking.
He wasn't being cruel. He was being normal. From where he's sitting, I don't get to have problems. I chose this. I designed it. I wake up whenever I want. I answer to nobody. What could I possibly be struggling with.
That's the trap. You build a life that looks so good from the outside that you lose permission to struggle out loud. And then you stop struggling out loud. And then you forget how.
When I ran my logistics company I could complain all day long. Clients were nightmares. Drivers didn't show up. Cash flow was a weekly panic attack. Everybody understood that language. My parents understood it. My friends understood it. It sounded like real work with real problems. Nobody ever said "must be nice" when I told them about a driver quitting on a Friday before a holiday weekend.
But now my problems don't translate. I can't explain to my dad, who showed up to the same job site for thirty years so his kids could eat, that I feel purposeless despite making more money than I ever have. That sentence would break something between us I don't know how to repair.
So I say I'm great. Every time. I say the waves have been good. I say business is smooth. I send pictures of sunsets and plates of food and everyone gets to believe the story.
Meanwhile I'm sitting alone in an apartment at 2pm on a Wednesday, not having spoken to a single person all day, feeling a low-grade dread that has no name and no source and no permission to exist.
You've felt this. Maybe you're the one in your friend group who "made it." The one who left the job or the city or the relationship everyone else is still in. And now when they vent about their boss or their commute or their rent, you listen. You say yeah that sucks. And you never bring up your own stuff because what are you going to compare. Your freedom against their rent check? Your morning in a cafe against their morning in traffic?
So you swallow it. Swallowing it becomes a skill. And one day you realize you've gotten so good at performing fine that fine is all you can access.
A woman I met in Mexico said something I think about all the time. She'd quit her corporate job, was traveling, had savings, had total freedom. On paper she was living the dream. She told me she thought she was depressed but couldn't say it to anyone because they'd just call her ungrateful.
I felt that in my whole body.
The thing about building a life with no external problems is the internal ones get loud. When there's no crisis to manage, no fire to put out, no boss to blame, you're left with yourself. And yourself turns out to be the hardest client you've ever had.
I don't have this one figured out. What I've started doing is small. I look for people who are in it too. Not groups. Not programs. Just other people who built something that works and are quietly confused about why it doesn't feel like enough. They're everywhere once you know what to look for. Early mornings at surf breaks. Late nights at bars. Quiet corners of cafes staring at nothing.
When I find one I just say it flat. I'm having a hard time and I don't know why. And every single time they exhale like they've been holding their breath for six months.
The loneliest version of success isn't being alone. It's being surrounded by people who are sure you're fine.
— Best, Jose
