I avoid my duties, often, while they rest on my mind, often. So here, a while later, I’m here. I’ve been spending the last few months of my 20’s trying to do the (superficial) things I said at 20 I would do in my 20s. I’m reading Rimbaud, I’m reading Infinite Jest, I’m reading those books I said I would read, because at 32 I can look back and say, “oh yeah, I read Gravity’s Rainbow in my 20s,” and it won’t be a lie. It’s unimportant, right? I honestly have more important things happening, but I think these last couple of months have also been training for a way in which I can balance all of my interests. I keep up with new music (obsessively–a decent review from any number of critics I respect and it’s getting a spin). I keep up with films that are pushing forward, and films that once pushed forward in the past–another way in which I can claim to have “done that in my 20s.” I’m creating a meditation routine for myself. I’m going to the gym (more) frequently, I’m eating healthier and adhering to the veganism I promised over a year ago (won’t ever look back). I’m trying to shed the person I became that I promised I never would become. The one who is lazy while pretending he isn’t. The one who is afraid of his own opinion. The one who is quietly waiting for the social niceties to run their course. There is nothing wrong with these traits, but at 20 I promised myself I wouldn’t be that person anymore in my 20s, but at 29.7 I look back ashamed because I didn’t even give it a try. The pain of looking back and being disappointed is worse than the pain of stretching my social anxiety or my tendency to waste time doing something unimportant. I can’t look back at 39.7 and think, “wow what a waste.” I just can not.

So ok then, I’m reading important books (and reading more frequently), I’m absorbing important film and the artists of today who are pushing it all forward. These are my people. These are the people I am choosing to be associated with because I know deep down that I can connect with them. I often avoid these people in real-life situations because of self-doubt, (well I’m certainly not good enough to hangout with these musicians, they’ll know I’m not as good… I can’t hang out with these writers, they spend portions of their days writing and I spend portions of my day wishing I was writing… I can’t hangout with these poets, they see the world too clearly and they’ll see-through me). A toxic trait, to be sure. Books, film, i’ve gotten into football (soccer) and have grown to really love it (it has taken over basketball as my one and only sport love–in fact I don’t even think I like basketball that much). This has also created this rebound effect where I’m so deeply invested in European culture (I’m going to Paris this Summer… and between us, even though it’s near impossible, I wish I could just move to Paris and live there), which has created another interest in me: language. I’m deeply invested in learning French right now (I’ve spent at least an hour a day learning it since the beginning of January and haven’t missed a day, and will not again). I’ve also decided that I want to be 39.7, able to speak French and Spanish fluently… well, fluently enough to have a real conversation. I’d also like to add Italian to that list, and eventually Portuguese (I know, big ambitions).

I’m trying to become this well-rounded person I thought I would become in my 20s. Well-read, film buff, interest in art, photography, languages, football, writing, meditation, veganism and health. This imaginary version of myself… no, wait, that’s me again putting myself down, not giving myself enough credit. Because that IS me, not imaginary, right now. I am interested in all of that, even if I don’t really consider myself an expert at any of them. Is that honestly ok to say? Am I allowed to just consider myself this person?

I’m also fully aware this makes me sound pretentious. It’s not about that. It’s about being this ideal person I always wished I was–the person that my parents could never allow me to be with their own faults and I couldn’t bloom to be under their roof with the low ceilings.

So how do I do all of this? The obstacle in my way of happiness isn’t juggling all of these things, because I know I can find time for all of them, the obstacle is more what I wrote about last time… my job, my career, the rest of my life. I wish I wasn’t ingrained with money = happiness, but that’s what happens when you live in North America. So really, what do I do? I’m just not made to work these shitty jobs. Nobody is, truthfully, but they’re so oppressive that they alter my entire being. It’s these days, my days off, that I can figure out who I am. But then the week starts again. I don’t want to sit in an office, even though that would be an upgrade from what I’m doing now. I need to be with my people. My people. I need to be with them because it’s killing me to be so separated. What would I do? Who would I have to know? Where would I have to go? What would I have to give up? Canadian comfort is the killer of a good life. Come home, snack, dinner, tv, bed, repeat. My parents.

Every morning on the drive to work I pass this woman standing at the bus stop, she’s smoking a cigarette, she’s wrapped up to to escape the weather, she’s got a coffee in her hand, she looks tired and doesn’t look particularly happy (to her credit, I know absolutely nothing about her, I just know what her image represents to me). And here I am, uniform on, not particularly happy, driving the same road, passing her in the same spot every morning, and each time, Joy Division comes to my mind. Every single time. “Day in, day out, day in, day out, day in, day out.” That song also has the lyrics, “I feel it closing in, as patterns seem to form.” I don’t think Ian Curtis was thinking about his 20s or his career when he wrote this song, but as it pertains to me, I think about it. I think about how each day fades in, fades out, the same, no change, and life continues, and you’re 24, then 25, then 27, and now you’re 29.

Then, 30. Then, 40, Then, 45. Is there no stopping it? Is the trap of comfort what keeps you stagnant (yes), is discomfort and uncertainty the only way through? (Also, yes). So why is it so hard to do when I already have the answer?

**posted with no editing because I wanted it to be as raw as possible**