Hiya, here is my September thought:
I want to talk about restlessness with the hopes of finding something new to say about it. You may not know it, or maybe you do and this blog has made it apparent, but above every other feeling, restlessness is obsessed with me, and I am obsessed with restlessness. When I don’t feel restless and I feel some other negative emotion, it will be within restlessness’ linage, always. Because aside from being tirelessly thoughtful, maybe a little angsty, I have another persistent issue: I’m an ‘on-to-the-nexter’.
To be someone who cannot rest in the here and now is to be someone who is numb to success, reward, and exhilaration regarding a new thing, a freshly met goal, a good new idea, a new person that makes life feel new again. Good new things to me are like a torch in the eye and the momentary blindness that follows. When my vision clears again, it is as if it never happened, as if such intense dazzling light had never come so close.
I wouldn’t know the state of newness if it punched me in the throat. I’ve never enjoyed the spoils of achievement. Every good thing has always been another brick in the wall of some building, I don’t know what building. They are boats and charter flights to the next destination. Things must always be moving, cogs must be meshing, and the light of a good thing is simply there to provide a visible path to the next. I have not once set up camp— GCSE’s, my undergrad, my masters, new jobs, vacations, exciting revelations, in any of the normal casual things that were once pipedreams.
I can see that now. I finally saw it in August for no particular reason. I was visualising the trajectory of my life— a normal Tuesday, but that day, I saw that there were no pitstops on success road, and nothing (and I have big dreams) was good enough to enjoy. Then I zoomed back in to the path that has already been walked and tried to think of one milestone that I’d sat down on to mop my brow, there hasn’t been one.
Since this shock revelation, I have been enjoying my accomplishments in bursts. Whenever I do sit with myself and deep all that I’ve achieved, all that I’ve survived, all that has happened to me from the beginnings to the present day, I imagine that it is what crack must feel like. That’s why people do crack. I am very strong, quite smart, and not lazy, and through these things, I have created the prospects of an exciting life for myself. But ‘prospects’ is a problem word. There has to be something said for the feel and taste of here and now.
When restlessness isn’t a symbol of transition, when it isn’t a necessary emotion, it is a thief of clarity and a fumbling of time. Aside from being unsatisfied with any achievement big and small, the time that I’ve stolen from myself by yearning for a new age, and then a new one when that arrives is already criminal. The great heroic cliché is that life gets better. However, life will never be good enough for the one who is turned off by the present, who cannot look back and see how such a cliché hasn’t avoided even them. But now I know, I can do something about it, now that I know.