Embracing Indifference: Reflections on Life and Writing

Note from me

This post is a translation of something I originally wrote last month in Turkish. After writing it, I felt a shift — something inside nudged me to return to writing again. That’s when I decided to finally open this website and commit to writing more regularly. I am also more motivated these days, thanks to sunshine.

So Now What?

It’s not that I don’t write anymore — it’s that I can’t. When I look back at my old writings, it feels like someone else wrote them. I ask myself: how did I find the strength, inspiration, and will to write those things?

I’ve usually written during my lowest moments. Writing was what pulled me out of the depths, what distracted me when I was bored or lost. And now, I feel like I’ve never written at all. This piece, too, feels more like thinking out loud. Contentless, meaningless, scattered.

My life hasn’t been full of grand struggles, but it has been lived under the psychological weight of a developing Turkey. Work was always important. I never wanted more than I had, but I was always surrounded by people who did. Fortunately, I didn’t grow up as a consumer. I wasn’t raised with a love for material things, but with a reverence for knowledge. I never aimed to be the best in class. I didn’t see life as a race, but I always felt the need to prove something to myself. When I didn’t understand something, I couldn’t rest until I did. Somehow, I made it to university. There, we kept learning. Understanding was more important than passing. Years later, I realized I had built a solid foundation — but in terms of traditional “success,” I wasn’t considered successful. Why is success measured in numbers anyway?

Since childhood, I had dreamed of studying electrical engineering. But once I started, I had no idea what I was doing. I graduated, got tossed around. Work life never suited me. That’s why I did everything I could to arrange a master’s program and came to Germany.

And that’s when I started writing again — because coming to Germany dropped me into a void. The same question kept echoing in my head: So now what?

The master’s felt like salvation. Living in Europe had been a dream. I arrived, and then what? So now what?

In Istanbul, life was a constant rush. There was always something going on. Too much noise. Like an old radio — more static than signal. When I came to Germany, that noise stopped. I was left with just content and silence. And that silence pushed me into a deep emptiness. I spent a long time trying to figure out how to cope with it. Again, I invented a goal: “Just finish school, then you can enjoy life.” But when school ended, there was more emptiness. How do people work and feel content? How do they settle down and feel okay? I’ve never understood it. Life feels so meaningless, I can’t even describe it. The only thing that kept me going were those made-up goals — but I never really reached any of them.

Then came the pandemic. I realized that my earlier battles with isolation and silence had actually made me stronger. The pandemic felt almost like a vacation by comparison. Still, the sense of meaninglessness lingered. Around that time, I had a car accident. The car was totaled. I remember stepping out of the wreck like nothing had happened. No sadness, no pain, no disappointment, no shock. Nothing. I even saw a psychologist about it. They said I was too rational, too good at suppressing emotions. They gave me exercises. Didn’t work. I couldn’t feel. The only emotion I had left was indifference — the kind where you’re standing between life and death, wondering whether to throw yourself in front of a train or not. I had nothing to lose. But I couldn’t bear the thought of hurting the people I’d leave behind. That was the only thing that kept me alive.

Later, I had another close call with death — closer than ever before. That day, I realized I wanted to live. That suicidal indifference disappeared. In the middle of all that meaninglessness, I discovered that struggle gives me strength. I started to feel again.

Work has always mattered to me. In my ideal life, I work in a niche area in tech — a research-oriented job. In reality, I couldn’t stay in academia, and I couldn’t get close to high-tech roles, except during my thesis. That thesis period was the most productive, most peaceful time in my life. That’s when I realized: this is what I want.

Years passed. I changed jobs three times. Drifted into different fields. I didn’t even work as an engineer. I was a project manager. In my first job, I did background work — circuit design, cost reduction — but I got fired. In my second job, at least the field was related. I made the most of project management, learned a lot, wasn’t bad at it — but I wasn’t satisfied. Once I felt confident in that job, I started chasing technical work again. I spent all my holidays last year learning — online courses, projects, self-practice. My only goal: change jobs, find something technical. But what does technical even mean? I couldn’t answer that. All I knew was, I wanted to work on something like my thesis. But in the process, I became a jack-of-all-trades — a little bit of everything, master of none. Then I told myself: “Just focus on one or two areas.” And I did.

The last half of 2024 wasn’t good. We lost a family member. My dad had serious health issues. I spent a month in Turkey to support them. Thankfully, the worst didn’t happen. But during that time, I felt many things: the nearness of death, the futility of desires, the strange tension of feeling both very close and very distant to my family and to Turkey. This in-betweenness — that was the hardest part.

Being in-between. Maybe that’s the only feeling I truly have. In-between traditions, habits, identity, dreams, profession, culture, knowledge. And that feeling feeds the sense of meaninglessness.

When I came back from Turkey, I got lucky. I found a job — this time as a software developer. I quit my old job, took a month off, spent it learning and practicing again. I started my new job on April 1st. That’s when I saw how wrong my old job was for me — how drained I had been. I also saw the value of my project management experience. I realized I have good ideas, strong empathy, and I’m not a bad manager. I also realized how bad most managers are.

A new job, a new excitement. Since April, I’ve been working intensely. Full-on nerd mode. It’s a factory, so now I’m using the skills I learned in my free time as part of my actual work. But one thing’s clear: I’m not an industry person. Once I fill in the gaps from the past five years, I’ll be looking for an escape again. That’s why this time, I’m spending my free time diving into research topics. I’m much closer to my real goal now.

Still, from time to time, that same indifference creeps in — the feeling I had when I first came to Germany. So now what?

During my first week at work, I spent time with each department. One of the workers asked me a great question: What do you expect from life?

I couldn’t answer.

Money? Definitely not.

Fame? Nope.

Family and a stable life? Also no.

A stable life feels like death.

An active life? Not that either.

A bigger social circle? No.

Solitude? Even if I prefer it, still no.

Success? Not even that. I don’t even know what success means anymore.

I thought about it for a long time. We keep inventing goals just to survive. And most of them are empty dreams. When you think deeply, none of it really makes sense.

Sometimes, I envy those who are satisfied with their lives — who don’t read or think too much, who just go to work, fill their free time with material pleasures. But I know I could never live like that.

Every possibility feels like a cloud of meaninglessness. Joys, sorrows, good memories, bad ones… I’m indifferent to them all. That’s why I can’t write anymore. I moved past the stage of chasing goals or dreams. Now I’m in the “what now?” phase. I have no desires, no expectations. I no longer care about the past or the future.