On Waiting

I don’t believe there has ever been a point in my life when I wasn’t somehow waiting for something.

It could be something I’m actively working towards, like a holiday I’m planning or some arbitrary fitness goal. Most of the time, it’s something I’ve done absolutely nothing to actualise—just a feeling that A Certain Thing is going to happen, but who knows when or how. If life were a playground, I would be firmly planted on the swings, pumping my legs furiously in the air, convinced I’m about to let go and soar across the entire city to land on a neighbouring planet of successful aliens. In reality, it seems as though I’ve just been doing loop after loop, spinning the chains tighter and tighter around the pole, eventually trapping myself in and turning into a human spring roll of unrealised potential. 

Now, you may already be outraged by these first few sentences. You could be thinking, “Well, of course you feel like this! Everybody does. If I google the phrase ‘why do i feel like im always waiting for something’, an avalanche of around 375 million results awaits me. People long before you have written canonical plays, performed actual empirical research, Sally Rooney's had a go at it — even the hallowed temple of capitalist wisdom that is Forbes has written about it. I don’t know a better way to enshrine something in the ‘cure for insomnia’ hall of fame. Yet, here you are, belabouring the poor topic into oblivion.”

To this, I would say you and I think very much alike, my friend. Don’t fret, though. I have no aspirations to even be slightly original. I only want to navel-gaze in peace over here. 

So, for me, I think this feeling comes from a classic question in existentialism and religion: “Do I want to take ownership of my life?”

It seems my answer, whether consciously or subconsciously, has thus far been a resounding no.

The thing is, if you were to have asked me this question a few days ago, I’d probably have told you indignantly that of course I take ownership of my life! I own my decisions and I apologise when I do the wrong thing. I am the master of my fate, captain of my soul, etc.

Though if this was really the truth… Why do I keep playing the waiting game? I think I have a bit of a filthy secret: I’m absolutely hoping that someone or something is going to come out of the blue and save me from my dissatisfaction. Yeah, okay, I admit it! I’m a little bit hoping that I’ll stumble upon my life’s purpose like stepping in dog shit and instantly transform into a world-renowned expert of something or the other. Ridiculous, embarrassing, and unfortunately very much true. 

Now, if this ‘ethos’ (and I use the term loosely) had completely failed me so far, I don’t think it would have taken the entire 23 years that it has for me to reach this conclusion. Many of the best things that have ever happened to me and most importantly, the best people that have ever happened to me have genuinely sort of just materialised in front of me. Perhaps this exacerbated the problem, because if it’s happened once, why won’t it happen again? On the other hand, despite all of my waiting, I have had the wind knocked out of me more times than I can count by events that I never, ever saw coming.

So, where does that leave me today? Shall I cast aside all I’ve hoped for in the pursuit of being the sort of person that subscribes to the Omnipotent Gratitude Journal and Lives in the Moment?

Kind of. I think I’m starting to realise that two very key elements of the human condition, the waiting game and the comparison game, have more in common than I thought, or at least very similar outcomes. Although, I don’t think ambition is the villain here, it is the manner in which I’ve grappled with it that has defined my experiences so far. 

In my case, I’m upset because I feel I haven’t found my passion, but I’m acting as if passion is something that should have happened upon me by now. If I’m choosing to take ownership of my life (and that’s a big “if”), I’m starting to think I will find passion when I make the active choice to dedicate myself to and love something. 

Now, this is all heavily theoretical. I have yet to implement this philosophy and see its results, so if you have gotten this far with me, your guess is as good as mine when it comes to effectiveness.

Ultimately though, this is just a note to myself to start choosing to try, to create, to engage, to explore, and to genuinely take ownership of who I am and who I want to be. That way when it’s all said and done, no matter what’s actually happened, I can turn around, look the universe in its gassy eyes and say that I really, really tried. I have a feeling embracing this outlook could very well pave the way for the fulfilment I’m seeking. 

On Letting Go

“Writing is a privilege and a luxury. Anybody who whines about writer's block should be forced to clean squid all day.”

- Anthony Bourdain

It is upon these grounds, on a Monday evening, that I have decided to begin something a long time coming.

Here, one will find Paints for Glass Bottles.

I have no aim. I have no direction. I have done no planning other than to purchase this domain for 12 months (with renewal, of course; I'm not completely unhinged).

I am beginning to think this is one of the many keys to a fulfilled life.

Many of us understand the turmoil of a chaotic childhood. I grew up in just such an environment, learning to predict the inevitable storms by identifying patterns of conflict. My strategy was two-fold: carefully defuse the "bombs" before they exploded, or, if escape was the only option, run for cover at the first sign of trouble. A foolproof schema, indeed.

23 has brought with it a stark realisation: my life was shaped by a relentless anticipation of catastrophe. A somewhat painful self-assessment earlier this year revealed a delightful pattern within me—a desperate avoidance of risk and the most stubborn attempts at self-preservation consistently leading to unintended and negative consequences. The irony was not lost on me. Most of the time in any given situation I didn’t even know what I liked, other than stability of course.

Now, before we all get too worried, I am writing to you today because just this morning, something clicked.

Reader, dearest compassionate reader, I don’t give a flying fuck anymore (sort of).

I DON’T CARE (mostly)!

Now, without getting too absurdist, I suppose I just wanted to joyously tell you that I wholeheartedly believe I can't predict or control a single thing that will happen to me—and you probably can't either. Joy, torment, success—everything I've ever wanted is both equally attainable and unattainable.

Of course, before we get too ahead of ourselves, let me clarify: my values, attitudes, and beliefs remain concrete. I am not about to run off and start some new impish life, although that would be fun.

I'll still go to work, send emails, I’ll smile at the lady selling flowers on the side of the road—the usual. The constant pressure to achieve ambitious goals and avoid any pain, though? That's pretty much gone. It just led to misery after misery after misery. Don’t even get me started on the people pleasing side of things. It’s never worth everybody liking you when in actuality, nobody actually likes you.

I’ve made this sound like some sort of grand transformation, but it is really only the beginning of a very long process. I still have an inordinate amount of learned behaviours to get rid of, and I suppose we all need to do a bit of planning here and there.

It’s not as if I’m going to stop trying for the things I want, but more so I am now acutely aware that even the things we work hardest for we are never guaranteed. Now, at this point, I’m sure we’re thinking the same thing. Unfortunately, I don’t have an answer for you.

I’m not entirely sure how I ended up so entitled, so confident in my ability to structure a life on a planet that is constantly in motion, either.

With that, I shall bid you farewell for now.

There is no true refuge, only this ceaseless love and its chaos. . .