I’m sure that this post will make everyone say that I’m entirely too self-analytical. Or, at the very least, that I think too much.
There’s been a shift in my thinking of late. Not so much in what I’m thinking about, but how I’m thinking about things. It’s as though my thoughts on pretty much any subject seem to be splitting in two directions simultaneously.
Geez, I hope this isn’t a sign of becoming manic-depressive. Of course, if it were, would I even know? Hmmmmm…
Anyway, it’s a lot more subtle than that.
It’s like trying to look at one’s life from an objective point of view.
On the one hand, I can say that I’m fairly comfortable with how things are at the moment. I have a good job (which is definitely something to feel good about given the sheer number of people I know who don’t). I’ve got a roof over my head, a truck in the garage, food in the cupboards, and can even afford to blow waste thoughtfully spend over $50 on a dish rack.
(For what it’s worth, I did use a 20% coupon. I am nothing if not frugal.)
Yet here I sit, writing the first draft of this post that I know won’t go up for a couple of days, on a Saturday night, feeling dissatisfied despite it all. Whether it’s simply that one can’t buy happiness, or a feeling that I should have accomplished more by now, or what, I’m not quite sure. The feeling, though, is definitely there.
We all feel like that sometimes, and that’s why I’m citing it as an example. Now take that dichotomy of thought and apply it to, well, just about anything.
Take travel. I’ve had a distinct feeling of wanderlust of late as well. This is propelled, no doubt, by the fact that I haven’t done any significant travel in a while; heck, I haven’t done any trips over a few days in Gawd-knows how long. Or maybe it’s being propelled by hearing tales from everyone I know who has or is traveling abroad, which I have yet to do.
Thing is, at the exact same time that I’m feeling this wanderlust, I’m feeling an enormous sense of lethargy. A distinct lack of motivation has taken over of late, and not just in terms of longer trips. Even weekend jaunts & hikes have been fewer of late, offset by just staying at home, going to the coast, watching movies, whatever.
Hell, last weekend’s backpack? I didn’t even really want to go. I forced myself to go, simply in an attempt to overcome the rampant lack of motivation. And while I’m glad I did, I haven’t found myself returning with a new found sense of purpose as regards to traveling.
Hence I sit here on Saturday, punching out this post.
Wanderlust being balanced by a complete lack of motivation.
Going through some old magazines and tossing them, I stumbled across an old National Geographic Adventure magazine, and found myself perusing an article on taking a year off. A year. I found myself wondering if I could do it, actually do it. If it was even possible, let alone practical. Certainly it appeals to the wanderlust side.
But I can’t seem to get motivated beyond idle thinking about the subject. More daydreaming, if I’m to be honest about it. Certainly nothing that crosses into serious consideration of “hey, I should just quit my job and travel the world for a year.” Hell, I’ve been having trouble getting motivated to go day-hiking, let alone start poring over airline flight schedules.
Even looking inwardly, I feel the split. On the one hand, I feel better about myself, physically, mentally, etc., than I have in a long time. But at the exact same moment I feel low on myself, and how I think the world sees me.
It’s like having both high self-esteem and low self-esteem all at once, at the same moment, in the same breath.
So you’d probably think by now that I’d be beating myself over this, no? But that’s the thing: two minds there as well. On the one hand, I’m disgusted with myself for the lack of motivation, whether it comes to doing anything with my current life or satisfying my wanderlust or whatever. On the other… on the other I just don’t care enough to be angry with myself about it.
What I wonder, though, is where all this leaves me. Does it simply leave me in a motionless state? Like positives and negatives are balancing themselves out and leaving nothing in its wake? Or like two equal forces colliding, canceling each other out?
Yet, it’s not like the feeling of detachment I had late last year. I still have good days and bad days, joys and sorrows, ups and downs.
It’s like I’m conflicted with myself, my life, who I am, but simultaneously completely unmotivated to do anything about it or care all that much.
I can’t even decide if that’s a good or a bad place to be.