Nothing.

Originally written July 26th, 2021. 

I like to keep my life busy which is different than productive. I like to feel accomplished. Regardless of what I’ve actually accomplished. I like to enter Monday morning work with a story to tell- whether or not that story brought me joy.

My instinct is to move and shun stillness. Yet stillness fosters clarity and understanding. Sometimes, I don’t want clarity and understanding. Sometimes, I’d rather be distracted. Sometimes, you’ve spent so much time distracted you missed every opportunity…. I don’t want that to be me. Today, I am still.

Post-pandemic Paul is wondering why he isn’t satisfied yet. What happened to the glorious escape from quarantine? 

I don’t need anyone to make me happy. True happiness is independence. But what if that isn’t true? 

Time ticks by and I wonder what it’s like to feel old. My fear is that’s it’s no different than feeling young. What if future Paul is still waiting?

Yesterday, I did nothing. The day before that - less. Depends on how you define nothing, I suppose. I kept myself fairly entertained. I suppose that’s something.

You’re too hard on yourself/ not hard enough. Sitting their twiddling your thumbs wondering why nothing is happening. Depends on how you define nothing,  I suppose. 

I’m not unhappy. Just indifferent. 

Curious if today I’m making mistakes I’ll regret tomorrow. Wondering how I’ll cope at my next loved one’s funeral. Tormented by memories of an ICU ward and the knowledge that one day I too will take my final breath..

I’m not unhappy, I swear. I just think a lot about about my vulnerabilities. What it means to be human… and how this weekend is only one of many, experienced by so many others.

I am alive and for that I’m grateful. Stillness is valuable. “Nothing” is subjective. Time to cut myself some slack.