Every once in a while I surface for breath, poking my head above the general complications and nonsense, sea of debt, growing unattended general household maintenance, and realise; life is once again leaving me behind.
A good friend of mine, Ryan, known since high school, recently had a second child. He no longer lives in the country, but I’ve stayed in touch with him, mostly via online games. He recently had a second child, and I’ve watched, fascinated, as he attempts to juggle a job, wife, and pair of toddlers. As any rational person would expect; there has been a noticeable drop in his general well-being.
Of course there has. I am barely capable of raising a mutt named Cujo without constantly being racked with guilt, accusing myself of not throwing the ball for him with enough regularity. Raising two human children that drop dead, as I understand it, should you stop giving them enough attention, must be akin to the stresses felt by nuclear reactor technicians.
The point is; I am in awe that Ryan manages the task at all. There may be a noticeable dip in his general well-being, with sleep becoming a foreign concept to him, and images of unpaid bills probably making him sit up in bed shrieking, but both his children have yet to drop dead. This means he’s doing a pretty good job, as far as I’m concerned.
I, on the other hand, struggle to keep up with life, even when my only responsibilities involve feeding myself, and making sure Cujo is let out each morning. And lest it go unsaid; Cujo is still occasionally forced to relieve himself inside, because I sleep in. He appears suitably guilty on these occasions, but, bless him, it isn’t his fault.
To make it a little more clear; I fail repeatedly at adulting, even though my adulting responsibilities are bare minimum. My sleep patterns are in a permanent state of being broken, I’ve been trying, and mostly failing, to eat a healthy diet. There is a hole in my ceiling above my shower, which I’ve been meaning to fix for (insert number of days here.)
I argue with myself about not having enough energy to get everything done, even though my job demands a bare minimum of hours. And, if we’re being absolutely honest, my spare hours are mostly spent goofing off, playing video games, and staring at Netflix. For shame.
This is the point in any good story when, with disappointed looks on their faces, the other adults who are making progress would look back, see me falling behind, and mutter; “just leave him, he’ll never catch up.” And who could blame them?
The old cliché says; every journey starts with a single step. Though, it fails to mention that the longer you avoid taking that step, the journey magically seems to become longer, and ever more daunting. There are things I’ve been aiming to achieve, journeys I’ve been meaning to take, that have gradually seemed to drift beyond reach.
Impossible. Insurmountable. How can I take the first step, I ask myself, when I will surely waste away on the road, never even getting within visible range of the finish line.
Nonsense, of course. Nothing is insurmountable. A state of mind, naturally. I, like so many others, have fallen to the biggest killer of journeys that ever did exists; a stagnating mind. People like Ryan, at least, have the excuse that their life is now occupied with things like make sure children don’t drop dead. As far as me and Cujo are concerned; I have simply fallen into a rut of stagnation.
I have tried to escape the rut. I have attempted to climb from the sludge of stagnation and get back on the road. But that sludge sure is thick, and that rut sure does have a tall lip.
But it isn’t over. One has never truly failed, and one has never truly been broken, unless they stop trying.
Right? Right, guys? Don’t leave me, I am still trying. Guys? Huh, wouldn’t you know it, the bunch of douchebags have left me here. No matter; at least, on this occasion, I won’t have to make awkward chitchat on the journey. I’ll be taking it alone.
A good friend of mine, Ryan, known since high school, recently had a second child. He no longer lives in the country, but I’ve stayed in touch with him, mostly via online games. He recently had a second child, and I’ve watched, fascinated, as he attempts to juggle a job, wife, and pair of toddlers. As any rational person would expect; there has been a noticeable drop in his general well-being.
Of course there has. I am barely capable of raising a mutt named Cujo without constantly being racked with guilt, accusing myself of not throwing the ball for him with enough regularity. Raising two human children that drop dead, as I understand it, should you stop giving them enough attention, must be akin to the stresses felt by nuclear reactor technicians.
The point is; I am in awe that Ryan manages the task at all. There may be a noticeable dip in his general well-being, with sleep becoming a foreign concept to him, and images of unpaid bills probably making him sit up in bed shrieking, but both his children have yet to drop dead. This means he’s doing a pretty good job, as far as I’m concerned.
I, on the other hand, struggle to keep up with life, even when my only responsibilities involve feeding myself, and making sure Cujo is let out each morning. And lest it go unsaid; Cujo is still occasionally forced to relieve himself inside, because I sleep in. He appears suitably guilty on these occasions, but, bless him, it isn’t his fault.
To make it a little more clear; I fail repeatedly at adulting, even though my adulting responsibilities are bare minimum. My sleep patterns are in a permanent state of being broken, I’ve been trying, and mostly failing, to eat a healthy diet. There is a hole in my ceiling above my shower, which I’ve been meaning to fix for (insert number of days here.)
I argue with myself about not having enough energy to get everything done, even though my job demands a bare minimum of hours. And, if we’re being absolutely honest, my spare hours are mostly spent goofing off, playing video games, and staring at Netflix. For shame.
This is the point in any good story when, with disappointed looks on their faces, the other adults who are making progress would look back, see me falling behind, and mutter; “just leave him, he’ll never catch up.” And who could blame them?
The old cliché says; every journey starts with a single step. Though, it fails to mention that the longer you avoid taking that step, the journey magically seems to become longer, and ever more daunting. There are things I’ve been aiming to achieve, journeys I’ve been meaning to take, that have gradually seemed to drift beyond reach.
Impossible. Insurmountable. How can I take the first step, I ask myself, when I will surely waste away on the road, never even getting within visible range of the finish line.
Nonsense, of course. Nothing is insurmountable. A state of mind, naturally. I, like so many others, have fallen to the biggest killer of journeys that ever did exists; a stagnating mind. People like Ryan, at least, have the excuse that their life is now occupied with things like make sure children don’t drop dead. As far as me and Cujo are concerned; I have simply fallen into a rut of stagnation.
I have tried to escape the rut. I have attempted to climb from the sludge of stagnation and get back on the road. But that sludge sure is thick, and that rut sure does have a tall lip.
But it isn’t over. One has never truly failed, and one has never truly been broken, unless they stop trying.
Right? Right, guys? Don’t leave me, I am still trying. Guys? Huh, wouldn’t you know it, the bunch of douchebags have left me here. No matter; at least, on this occasion, I won’t have to make awkward chitchat on the journey. I’ll be taking it alone.