What do you do when your best isn't good enough?

I have asked everyone in my Rolodex of life whom I suspected might be capable of giving me an insightful answer. They all replied, "You keep going."

No shit, Sherlock — but how?

No one seems to be able to tell me how I'm supposed to go about this. In theory, I understand this rationale completely, but in practice, this proves to be much more difficult.

Of course, the cynic in me also has to wonder whether these people would be able to persevere themselves, should they happen to lose their entire foundation while having to complete a 180-degree life change.

They're all in very comfortable niches in one form or another. Many of them have admitted to never facing a set of circumstances as dire as mine. It's not every day that one's entire life changes virtually overnight.

I never thought that this would happen for me, but I am beginning to lose faith. Unfortunately for me, that's about all I have left.

I've hit several bumps along the way to reinventing myself. It's hard to keep in mind that this is quite necessary and unavoidable when you're in the thick of things.

Being a control freak, I've tried to get around these issues. It's easy to get caught in the maelstrom caused by bucking convention and listening to your heart or going with that gut feeling, especially when doing so does not give you the results you wanted or expected.

I am in the process of trying to recover from a hat trick of seemingly debilitating setbacks: personally, professionally, and physically.

I am not ashamed to tell you that there were quite a few times where I handled each of these incidents with self-pity, tears, or alcohol. Or all of these things.

Always the multitasker.

I guess the point I am trying to make — to myself, if no one else — is that these things happen often and usually simultaneously. It may seem easy to roll over and take it. But I'll have to be prepared to live with that decision — for the rest of my life.

For someone who allegedly doesn't like to gamble, I sure seem to be doing a lot of that these days.

And it seems that I only engage in high-stakes ventures. I have always loved a challenge. Unfortunately, this time around, I am on a serious losing streak.

For the past three months, I've been hedging my bets in the professional world, to no avail. Recently, I've been wagering my personal life, too, with the same dreaded results. Just when I think I have a winning hand and that the cards are in my favor, the house rules.

I've been wondering why I even bother to take risks at all. In the midst of such a volatile market, wouldn't it be far easier to just take the safe road, at least until things stabilize a bit?

The problem with that rationale: the safe road is boring. Taking risks involves stepping out of one's comfort zone — something many people are afraid to do. This fear keeps many people from going for what they ultimately want, jeopardizing their happiness in the process.

I have never been one of those people, and I can't justify becoming one of them now, just because life has taken a rather rocky turn.

After last week's pity party, I came to the realization that I have been handling things all wrong. Instead of letting my current situation (of being an overeducated and unemployed professional squatter) take me down, I need to have a more Sisyphean approach.

The seemingly insurmountable obstacles can be broken down into simple tasks: I am to get up every day and put forth the effort look for a job for a few hours a day. Then move on to the next task: studying for the GRE.

Then I'll tackle research questions and design and polishing my writing samples.

After this task, I'll move on to the next, and to the next and to the next...until I get a job. Luckily, this will not be my fate forever — it only feels that way.

My biggest adversary throughout this process is myself. I overanalyze almost everything, and I'm too harsh when things don't work out my way. If ever I can figure out how to keep my inner taskmaster at bay, it will be smooth(er) sailing from that point on.

Something will come to pass from my diligence — I am too stubborn to be beaten by this.

I've taken to running again. Though I've run before for exercise, the vein that drives the behavior is almost entirely new: Running is a rather wicked form of escapism.

For the last few days, I have found myself running when I could think to do nothing else to squash the anger, anxiety, and fear that grips me at any given point of every day.

Equipped with running shoes and a heart rate monitor, I run: 20 minutes, 30 minutes, one hour, two hours. For the longer runs, there are a few breaks, but mostly, I need the rhythmically soothing thumping of my feet on the road — and of my pulse in my ear.

I run past the point of exhaustion and through pain. When I feel as if I need a break, I quicken my pace. If I feel that familiar twinge of pain in my knee, I shuffle to a tune on my iPod with a faster tempo, turn up the volume, change my stride and run faster.

Ignore fatigue, run through the pain: These things don't matter. It's all in your head. Block it out and move on. Increase your speed and these demons can't keep up with you.

This is what I like to believe. It's insane at best, and nowhere close to being true — but that doesn't stop me from trying.

At the end of the run, more often than not, I find myself exhausted to the point of immobilization, and the demons I worked so hard to escape settle back into my head...

As Morrissey of the Smiths sang, "Please, please, please, let me get what I want...this time."

Though the lyrics to the song of the same title are a bit dramatic, they're fitting, given the current state of my life.

It has been a rather long time since I have had anything that even moderately resembled smooth sailing. I am trying my damndest to not let everything get to me, but there's only so many times that a person can get kicked in the teeth before they stop smiling.

Anyone who has had an unyielding string of bad luck knows exactly what I mean. Even the brightest glimmer of hope and happiness seem to be overshadowed by impossibility and hardship these days. I don't mean to be a Negative Nancy — especially since this goes against every fiber of my being. But I am tired. Fucking tired.

All I want to know is, When does the time come to harvest the fruits of my labor and relish in its bounty? There is a point in time when this is possible, right? If there isn't, then what's it all about?

I need a vacation, but can't afford one. I need a break from reality, but those don't exist. I need a dose of happiness that lasts for more than a few hours and isn't overshadowed by the impending doom that seems to be riding shotgun to that very happiness.

I need a serious reprieve from all that is my life right now.

The week may have started well, but it sure didn't end that way.

Life is full of ups and downs. Once again, I am finding myself in the latter half of that equation. Seems that I am still supposed to struggle for a bit longer. I can't help but think: What lesson have I not learned yet? I mean, really?

Humility? Check.

Perseverance? Check.

Appreciation? Check.

The value of hard work? Check.

Rejection? Check, check CHECK!

Over the course of the last week, I was thrown so many curve balls that it's no wonder that I am dreading the start of another week. By Friday, I had all but thrown in the towel, and had to call for reinforcements. They did all they could for me, but my battle scars are taking a bit longer to heal these days.

I have been told — numerous times — that I am an intelligent, capable woman, and that I will do a great many things. Most of the time, I believe this. I guess inherently, I always believe this. But at this time of extreme irrational thought, I find myself quickly losing sight of this, while simultaneously spiraling deeper and deeper into a state of cataclysmic despair.

Not all of my days are spent like this. Unfortunately for me, the days that I do feel this way are becoming all the more frequent.

I'm tired of coping, of just barely holding on. I don't know how to do it, or where it's going to come from, but I need to figure out how to change things — FAST!

I’ve moved on — why hasn’t everyone else? I realized that during my week of frenzied interviews. All nine interviewers asked me the same question: “So you were in the military. How was that?”

After I gave a quick explanation, they began the interrogation, prodding me for scenarios that were much sexier than anything I experienced.

Their questions were intrusive, probably because they knew nothing about the military.

I made me a little uncomfortable.

I find it’s the same thing when I talk about my divorce. What people want to hear is the dirt. When there’s nothing to give them, they treat me as a hostile witness.

Why does everything have to be sensational? And if my anecdotes happened to be sensational, what gives them the right to be privy to that information?

Ah, you say, but you write for a divorce website.

Sure. But how often do I speak about divorce?

For me, the point is to focus on life afterward.

And trust me — there is so much life after divorce.

I can't help being angry. I know that good things can't happen to good people all the time — or even most of the time. But while things might seem to be on the up and up for me, a few within my inner circle have not been as fortunate.

Some of my closest confidants have been plagued with family illnesses, financial woes, and employment issues, putting them all in less-than-desirable situations — and states of mind.

I wish there was some way that I could help them all, but I can't.

It's just another reminder that life can be unfair, difficult, and just an old-fashioned pain in the ass.

I suppose this is the point where someone is supposed to remind me of the need for balance in the world: the yin and the yang and all that stuff.

Maybe, but that doesn't make it any easier to take.

I can only imagine what my friends must be going through right now.

I know the best and only thing for me to do is to be a good friend.

I also know that I cannot allow my friendsí troubles to distract me from getting things done.

If only it were that easy to compartmentalize these feelings long enough to get through the course of a day.

Oh, the joys and pains of being a woman. Sunday morning, I found myself in my temporary New York City digs in need of personal maintenance. You know, those womanly chores we love to hate — or maybe just hate — with a passion.

Being that the prior week was so hectic, I hadnít had time to pay attention to myself, and by the weekend, I was a mess.

I needed a shampoo and a shave like nobody's business. The shampoo was going to be easy, I figured. So I decided to begin with my least favorite chore — shaving, though I decided to use one of those hair-removal-in-a-tube deals.

Ordinarily, I don't subscribe to chemical hair removal, because it's so messy, and because there's just something strange about the process.

But my heightened need for hair removal — summer equals skin exposure — and the fact I get so impatient when I shave, made me take the plunge.

I wish I had checked the water situation in the apartment before smearing the hair remover on.

Thank goodness it was merely a lack of hot water, and not a full-on drought. If that had been the case, I would be going through the remainder of these horrid New York summers hiding vanity-induced chemical burns under long pants.

It's all in the name of beauty, I suppose.

Why in earth do we as women care so much? What's it all for?

Is it really for ourselves?