Last night, I was a lovely combination of pathetic and resigned. When I reflected on the letters and spaces that made up my tired mindset, I realized that writing it out had two effects. On the one hand, writing un-frazzled me. I was able to distill all of my frayed nerves into coherent thoughts. It was soothing.
On the other, unexpected hand, once I’d written everything out, I could see my discontent for what it was, which was pretty silly. I can only wallow for so long and last night was the limit. I saw my complaints out in the open, condensed into letters and spaces, and I had an overwhelming sense akin to “What the heck is the big deal?”
I sat back and realized that I didn’t want to miss a major portion of my life because I was so busy wishing that I was somewhere else. I didn’t want to look back at this period and wonder why I felt so occupied and stressed but not recall what I was actually doing. I may not remember my commute some mornings, but I really want to remember my actual life. If nothing else, my post was a big smack across the head with a ringing “Pay attention!” attached to it.
I can’t promise to be an ever-shining beacon of optimism; in fact, it’s a safe bet that I will hardly ever be that. But I can make a greater effort to be more present and aware of what I’m going through, not just dazing off into a dream world where things are automatically easier, more attractive, or faster. It’s the difference between being an active participant in my own life – as corny as that sounds – and being an observer. Simply observing isn’t fair to my friends, JG, or myself. If I’m tired, I don’t want the fatigue that comes from being beaten into submission by the daily grind. I want the tiredness that comes from having a full day behind me. A full life.