Created: 5/8/2026
For thirty years, I lived for everyone but myself. On the construction site, at the bank, and at home, I was always defined by a function, not a name.
I wore my work uniform like a second skin, clinging to a single promise: once the debts are gone and the kids have grown, I will finally be free.
I spent decades waiting to shed these labels, dreaming of fishing trips, quiet books, and endless, untroubled skies.
Then, the day finally arrived. The mortgage was paid, the house went quiet, and the daily grind came to a permanent halt.
"Function" For thirty years, I was someone else. On the construction site, I was "hey you"; to the bank, I was a "disciplined payer"; to my wife, I was a "breadwinner"; to my children, I was an "ATM on legs." I wore my work uniform like a second skin, all the while waiting: once I pay off my debts and the kids get on their feet, I will finally shed all of this and become myself. I will go fishing, read books, and just watch the sky. And now that day has come. The apartment is paid off, the kids have moved out, and there is no need to go to work. I sat in my armchair, closed my eyes, and prepared to "be myself." But inside, there was only a frightening, icy void. I tried to remember what I love, what I think about when I don't have to think about money, and... I couldn't. My thoughts are only shift schedules, grocery prices, and the fear of missing out on something. Stanislaw Jerzy Lec said: "To be yourself, you must be someone." And I have been a mere cog in the machine of survival for so long that I forgot to grow a soul. I cannot "be myself" because, over these years, I have worn myself thin. I have become no one, and now my freedom has the bitter taste of uselessness.