Every year, starting on Memorial Day, I start re-watching Star Trek: Deep Space Nine. Last night, I arrived at "Distant Voices". Without giving too much of the plot away, Dr. Bashir realises that in order to get out of his coma, he has to fix the infirmary systems. He says, "Ops may be the nerve centre of the real world, but this is the centre of my world." He realises that no matter what happened in medical school, he still would have accepted his assignment on DS9 and says that this is where he belongs.
The crux of the episode is that Bashir starts out being disenchanted at turning 30. Because of reasons, I couldn't bring myself to watch this one in 2021. I had bought into the idea that turning 30 was the end of your life and you might as well check into a retirement home because the next place you're going is the graveyard all throughout my 20s. For the first 6 or so months of being aged 30, I kept telling people I was 29; I considered selecting a smaller number than that, but I didn't want to start lying about my age and I didn't feel 29 was as much of a lie as 25.
If you've been reading my blog or any of my chosts lately, you might have been able to tell that I was having a major problem with feeling time slipping away from me. I think the low point was I Have Too Many Phoneasels. I'd been convinced that my life would have been substantially better if I'd just stuck with my office job and not been so afraid of dying from COVID-19; but I was able to find a moment of clarity a few days ago where I was able to look at the problem objectively. Assuming I had stayed at my job and not contracted long COVID or died, I would have been able to continue getting the car fixed $200 at a time every other week. I would have gone from that assignment to at least 2 others (possibly 3), and I would most likely still be working for that agency. I would have worried myself grey about catching COVID, quite possibly eventually even wearing my mask in the office and taking my meals in the broom closet. Finally, and perhaps most importantly, I would not be on HRT. I would be no less lonely than I am right now, but I would have the added bonus of being further convinced that it was now officially too late to start HRT and I would either kill myself or take up binge drinking. On a number of different levels, I would not be in a better place had I stayed on.
Having Dr. Bashir afraid of turning 30 and having to march out of youth and into old age, then having him confront the very same situation as I had, it hit different this year. When Bashir said, "This is where I belong," I broke down. Despite everything that's happened to him over the course of his life, he's still in a place where he feels he belongs. I realised the same thing; despite all the bad choices I've made in my life, I've finally reached a point where I'm happy with myself. The centre of my life isn't determined by someone else, like an employer or a government; it's determined by me. It's my mind, I can do anything that I want.
I've herded my demons into a quarantine field and now there's only one thing left to do. Computer, begin sterilisation.
--28 July 2024--