I’m not complaining by any means. This holiday season has been a breath of fresh air into an otherwise stifled existence for the past few years.
I’ve enjoyed myself immensely, and have been doing exactly the things I’ve wanted. I’ve travelled indulgently and have been doing a fair share of writing. I’ve read disappointingly little, run even less due to my injury and have eaten as much as I could, everything that I could all at once. I don’t think I’ve ever eaten so freely and irresponsibly since I was 15.
The thing is, all this sort of has its limits. I can feel myself enjoying this on one hand, but on the other I feel myself wasting away. Not just physically, by any means. Physically I believe I’m rather fit, or at least reasonably fit. I swim a few times a week and do some weird Tabata routine (it only takes 12 minutes of your day) to keep myself alive. Physically, I think I’ve got it covered.
On a more psychological (and perhaps emotional) level this holiday season may have taken its toll. It is not the same for everyone. After army I’ve had a few friends that had already started their studies. Some are even juggling a few jobs on the side and taking a significant interest in the forwarding of their lives. Whether or not what they do is effective is not the point. The point is, that they try. They try with such ferocity that it makes me embarrassed to admit my holiday routine. At the same time, I admire them.
It really makes me reevaluate, at this point, what I’m really doing with my life. I don’t know, it’s the holidays and all and you’re supposed to waste every dying day but I just can’t help but feel that there should be more to this. All the late nights, desperate drinking, the lack of a pattern, losing my wallet, having to replace its contents, delaying the trip to the doctors to check out my leg, losing my $195 speaker overseas, delaying my university application status and leaving a Murakami book behind at a bar. All these things don’t happen at once for no reason. It all points to a certain sloppiness and complacency that arises at a certain point in our lives, slowly accumulated like dust on a vacant tabletop. This tabletop is perhaps something like my life. I have nothing to offer it, nothing to keep it functional and occupied. It lies there, untouched, unmarred, but so, so dusty and unpleasant to the touch.
So, though it’s a little late, I’m going to have to make some decisions in my life to straighten everything out, to lift up the heavy mattress and tuck in the loose ends of the bedsheets. These decisions don’t necessarily have to be big decisions, like the choice of career or the choosing of companions. The small decisions often invariably lead you to the big ones. Little choices like walking slower, drinking more water, learning how to say ‘no’ nicely, cutting down on the alcohol, eating less red meat, topping up on the vegetables, bringing a book with me everywhere I go, turning off my phone. These little changes will lead to greater ones, I’m certain of it. I just need the courage to start, and in a few weeks time I sincerely hope to be the image of myself I had been so desperately chasing all this while.