The day ahead of me is unusually free. I realised as soon as I woke up and felt myself relax as if it were a Saturday morning on a school week. It usually takes me a while to structure the day’s tasks in my mind. I routinely write them down the day before but never in any strict order as they are subject to change based on time and how I’m feeling. When I went to consult my notepad this morning I found the latest page empty, which means I was so unconcerned about today’s workload I forwent writing the schedule until this morning.
The event around which all things revolve today is a hospital appointment just after noon. I had intended to cycle but overall tiredness and a dark sky threatening to break has convinced me to drive. The rain is not so much a bother, but a succession of two workouts per day has left me leaden and I don’t want to start sprouting ulcers again. My only two remaining obligations are to write (which is happening right now) and to read. The parable-esque chapters of Don Quixote are short and so do not require any time to be set aside.
Whilst a mental and physical break can be positive inclusions into a regime, by their very nature they lend themselves to inertia. If I don’t hear the clock ticking in the back of my mind I will waste entire hours at a time doing nothing of note. When the evening arrives and a meagre list of completed chores is all I have to show for the daylight hours, I begin to feel lazy and inadequate.
I’ve written in the past about David Goggins and how I appreciate how he doesn’t only live life, he attacks it. A man who runs ultra-marathons and sets pull-up world records is a clear example of how a person can push themselves beyond whatever limits they had previously set for themselves. His is an admirable way of life, one many would aspire to and few would be able for. The man stretches for hours at a time. Think about that. Consider the kind of dedication it would take to implement that single practice into your day. Apparently he never takes time off.
That may suit Goggins, but it is not for me. I would begin to resent life if I strove to make it so relentless. I like feeling I can do whatever I want, if only for a short while. I also need structure. Lounging in bed, smoking and playing video games is a reward, not a way of life. Breaks like that fuel the succession of days in which shit needs to get done. They are recuperative, though often result in a stiff back from hours of remaining static on the settee. As long as you are able to pick up the pace when you tell yourself to, there is no need to fear relaxation. The danger with this balancing act is the slothful mindset often threatens to pollute the dedicated one. Or vice-versa, now I come to think of it. But that is the dualism of existence, and attaining it may very well be the key to lasting contentment.
I wrote that as if I have some sort of clue about life. I have half-listened to a handful of philosophy podcasts and struggled to nibble on the crumbs left by celebrated intellectuals. History and religion have interested me for most of my thinking life, though my knowledge of dates and times is rather weak. I have no idea how life is supposed to be lived. I only know what fulfils me, what displeases me, and that I need to exert as much influence over my existence as possible, which, it must be said, can never be more than a thimbleful.
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