This might seem ridiculous but I’m sure there are hundreds and thousands of people out there who can really relate to this. Everyone is looking for happiness but for someone who’s too smart for his own good knows that’s hard to come by.
Why is that? Maybe because their intelligence is the reason for their sadness. (don’t duh me yet)
The self-aware man stands in the shade, regarding the hole he’s dug. Is it a big hole? It’s OK. It’s a regular-sized hole. It’s the kind of hole that might be dug by a man who’s got an innate talent for digging holes but who’s never worked hard at developing that talent. (Or who hasn’t worked hard enough, the man thinks. Who could’ve been digging holes for Olympic stadiums, if he’d set his mind to it.)
The self-aware man moves out of the shade, squinting, and walks over to the foreman’s office. The foreman is drinking a Sunkist. He looks out at the yard and he appraises the self-aware man’s hole and he says, “Helluva good hole.” The self-aware man murmurs a thank you. (Not my best work, he thinks.)
When he gets home, the self-aware man considers his day. He recognizes this day as one of many in a year; this year as one of many in a life; this life as a microscopic drop in the vast blanket of time. He considers his own insignificance. He thinks about calling the woman he met at hot yoga the other day, but he knows that although she liked him at first, the joke he made on their way through the parking lot had fallen flat. Surely she’d been disappointed, if not entirely turned off.