You're sitting at your kitchen table trying to recall where all your money went last month, while contemplating whether you'll have enough to pay the sneaky bill you just discovered in a mountain of unopened mail. To be honest, it's been a while since you looked at anything resembling a budget. You briefly imagine winning the lottery -- what is cocaine like, you wonder? -- several minutes later you snap out of your daze and discover your smallest child inexplicably covered in glitter. Along with the cat. And somehow the ceiling. While retracing your dazed steps, you find the half-finished plan of your kids' chaotic schedule on the family calendar. You wonder how you can carve out time this month to catch up with a friend whose kids have a chaotic schedule all of their own. The only way to make it work is to cancel date night. Now on the one hand you'd love to re-ignite the spark with your partner because honestly you've been stuck in a rut for some time; on the other hand you're struggling to remember why you married that slob, so fuck it, date night is off.
In my mind, that's how normal people live. To you, it might sound weirdly off-colour because I don't live that way and I'm really only able to regurgitate the horrible things you say after filtering them through my own naive world-view. As much as you complain, in my mind I want what you have. I'd love to be busy with a house and a family and to be worrying about how to make ends meet or how to spice things up with my wife. Unfortunately, I don't even have a house or a family. My life is unchallenging, not at all chaotic, and I have more money than I know what to do with (not because I'm loaded, I'm just really unimaginative).
Most people think the life of a single affluent person must be one non-stop party. My idea of a good time is eating breakfast at 3 pm at that local cafe that has all the cute waitresses. I don't talk to them except to order food because they are young and cute and busy and I am really not any of those things. In fact, most days I don't actually talk to anyone, except for the occasional awkward conversation in the elevator with that one guy whose name I can't remember. Mostly we talk about elevators. Neither of us knows why really. Look, what I'm saying is that I'm not exactly thriving. And honestly, there's no reason why I shouldn't be if someone qualified were making good life choices on my behalf.
When I work, I work hard. Not Elon Musk hard, but illogically hard. There's probably some deep Freudian reason behind it that I'm not smart enough to understand -- a futile attempt to make someone proud, perhaps. The point is, last year I worked my butt off, spurring myself on with the promise of a long and wild holiday in some foreign land. All the while, never ending deadlines took precedence. Eventually I quit because I didn't really need the money and I wasn't having fun any more. I know, fuck me right? Ironically, once I'd quit I actually preferred the idea of day-sleeping and watching Netflix over going on a holiday, so for the next month I did that instead. While working, holidays and doing nothing seemed like heaven, but eventually I was just bored. Not happy working, not motivated to holiday, and not happy doing literally whatever I wanted. It's hard to believe this is how you adult properly. I decided to fly back to see my family for a few weeks.
My family are awesome and happy just to see me, and somehow not at all concerned that I'm doing nothing with my life. I love these people. I stay a little longer than I should and then fly home with the news that friends in Sweden are expecting and I should really get there before the baby arrives, after which all bets are off. I have been promising to visit for years and, to be honest, really don't have a lot else going on. So fuck it, now I'm planning a holiday to Sweden. I'm not sure whether that is cool or insane, but it troubles me that I can't tell the difference. Meanwhile, I catch up for a beer with one of my few remaining friends in Sydney. As it turns out, he and his wife are also expecting. We talk a little about the amazing news and all the feels he must be having, but mostly I bitch about my life of privilege and the search for meaning and truth in an otherwise pointless existence. That's right, I'm that guy. Honestly, I'm mostly just thinking I want what he has. Just as we're getting ready to go, I notice a girl at a nearby table making eyes at me. Naturally, I panic and leave. There's some lesson here about the difference between wanting something and wanting to do the thing that actually leads to that something -- the latter usually prevails -- but that's a topic for another day. Worst case, I would have just made an ass of myself. The calculus here wasn't hard and I shanked it.
While doing half-assed holiday planning, I faff about burning time and money, whiling away my days before I set off. Suddenly a job opportunity falls into my lap. They're happy for me to take a month-long holiday first. So sure, I say, I'll do a few weeks work for them and see how it goes. I have no idea whether this was a bad idea; there is little risk so I think I got it right, but once a gain it irks me that I'm totally guessing.
I guess what I'm doing is partly humble-bragging about how lame-awesome my life is and just how far it is from what I think I want, and partly complaining about how bad I am at closing that gap. You might be reading this and suppressing screams about how, in your world, it would be a luxury just to take a nap in peace let alone spend countless days watching Netflix, or how you would give anything to be single again for one night, or quit your job. Well, I have two semi-contradictory things to say to you:
- This grass is not as fucking green as it looks buddy
- I am actually in need of adult supervision and would greatly appreciate your thoughts on what it is I should be doing with my life
Today's epiphany is that these two statements are basically true for everyone -- my life just affords me the time to blog about it.