Real Living

I don’t know if y’all have noticed, but the blog has been a little dry lately. Posts go up at the last possible second, sometimes the content is a bit of a mixed bag, and overall the experience has been a bit…

Bleh

Part of that is, in fact, the book work. But that’s only a small fraction of the equation. A big chunk of it is simply the fact that life has become quite busy. For the longest time, I thought that the answer to these busy seasons was to make sure my body was well-prepared for all the work. I would eat a lot, stay hydrated, make sure I got enough sleep, and trust that this would get me through til things got better. 

I think part of that was wrong, though. Lately, I have been staying up just a smidge later to get some writing in. It doesn’t take long–just an hour at the very most. I’ve started cranking out posts like these: just ramblings of whatever comes to mind. They don’t always pivot the framework of my mindset, but they’re enough to get me through. I almost want to say they’re life-bringing. Is it selfish to say I write for my own sake? If so, I think I’m fine taking that insult. 

I noticed it today, though. I stayed up an hour last night to write about my thoughts on Toy Story. I could barely remember what I had written, but the fact that I sat down to write brought me a feeling of satisfaction. I’m barely OK calling it satisfaction, though, because the feeling…well…the best way I can describe it is that I felt like concrete in the best way possible. I felt immovable, unshakeable; like the world couldn’t pester me any longer with its silly problems any more. I guess, in short, I felt…

Rejuvenated. 

It’s such a strange feeling. You’d think the real solution would be proper sleep, but what has really done the trick is less sleep and more living. It’s funny: I’ve always preached about how people were meant for more than survival, how we were made to dine, not just eat, and all that crap. But I have never felt it in action until now. I guess this is the type of thing I was made for, in a sense. 

Is this my confession that I’m quitting my day job to become a writer? Hardly! I still love my life as a plumber and I think I’d go nuts without it. But I think it’s important to do something with your life. To have hobbies, to have interests, to do stuff with your life. I think that’s what makes life worth living. 

Or maybe I just think it’s more worthwhile to stay up for some downtime. I dunno.