I think life exists differently for each individual. I don’t think there is a single soul who has ever reached a conclusion. Which can only mean life is yours and nothing else. As in: it is a thing to hold. It isn’t malleable, so to speak, it’s more so a shapeless field.

There are so many reasons I can’t build up the courage to change myself. None of the reasons are important… in fact, they’d all better be called excuses. So then, why, when faced with positive change and endless reasons to make a change, do we (I) stay stuck in a position that has no benefits and is intrinsically worse for our existence? Is it fear? It has to be fear. But fear of what?

Let’s take the core problem of my life (acknowledging that my current problem probably won’t exist in a year and something else will take its place with more or less urgency), which is my job. For all intents and purposes, I have an “ok” job. I’m not super well paid, but I make as much as my parents (who are not well paid themselves). The benefits are serviceable. The work-week is standard.
So, what is the problem? — I think, if I’m entirely honest: it is perception. What I do is not something to brag about. It is noteworthy in the public realm of improve improve improve and It’s not a job you mention in ice-breaking conversations. I’m expendable in my position and it gives me no joy, no fulfillment, no pride. Are these things important to a job? I don’t know. I supposed they are for me.

Let’s say: I want to do something that gives me a kind of pride. I want to be able to say, with enthusiasm, this is what I do to earn enough money to buy food, rent, and save for [insert all reasons to save money]. So I’ve already mentioned in a previous posting that I want to write. The feeling I get, sitting at my table in front of a window where the sun shines in, writing on this MacBook are indescribable. Imagining myself in a conversation with others being able to say “I write in front of this window to earn living,” feels like an electric shock of want. There is no denying this is a vain reason. I’ve concerned myself before with giving a reason to this and if I was still younger than 25 I would probably say that writing to earn money is bullshit and that doesn’t make me a real writer. I should write because I have to write!

But my current job exhausts me physically beyond expression and ironically the physical exhaustion affects the mental exhaustion. I simply cannot turn my brain into a system of focus and pleasure. It becomes dormant.

Aha! Another excuse.

Why don’t I get up early to write?
I’ve tried.
Why don’t I nap when I get home?
I’ve tried–it creates a fog i’m unable to penetrate.
Why don’t I have a shower when I get home?
I’ve tried. It makes me sleepier than ever.
—but I haven’t tried a cold shower.

I guess this is my extremely long-post way of asking the void for help. I’m not entirely sure how to live this life I am holding. I don’t want to take it for granted. I don’t want to give it up. I don’t want to look back at today–10 years from now–and wonder why I sat there asking to make a change instead of just making a change. I understand on a fundamental level that right now is the youngest I’ll ever be again and the only way to change tomorrow is to change the moment you exist in.

How far behind am I?