I’m at a time in my life where I’ve begun to balance future considerations with those of the present. What I mean is that, now that I’ve come to terms with my having sixty or so more years of life, I’ve gotta figure out what to do with my time.
This dilemma comes through most when I think about my friends. I could scroll through my phone and, pretty likely, be able to find someone to hang out with, some party that’s going on. But then again, I could always stay home and write, work on applications, read a book and do things of this nature.
The first category, that of friends, is comprised of things which make me happy in the short term but cannot, by their nature, lead to anything greater than this feeling. A party will never, on its own, be meaningful to your life or to your career unless you make it about more than merely a happy feeling inside. No barbeque will ever bring you anything more than a buzz and a full belly. But, I love these things.
I cannot overstate how much I need people in my life to keep on chugging. Social interaction keeps me sane, I think, because it gets me out of my head, stops me from thinking in the moment and just let’s me have fun.
But, fun is like any other intoxicant in that it’s only enjoyable in moderation before it starts to make me question my relationship with it. I cannot spend that much time with friends without thinking of my writing. It’s something which must be continually honed without any gratification but that which you can personally derive thereof.
And so, once I become tired of the life in front of me I worry about the life that is on its way. I crave the progress and ever churning nature of living, it’s so damn wonderful. I just want to find some meaningful way to bring about personal joy in tandem with job joy, for lack of a better term.
I haven’t seen this beautiful balance up close, but like an elusive bird, it’s the idea of its existence that keeps me searching for it.