It is time to admit that I am at the end of my rope here.
A sharp turn towards a minimalist lifestyle was supposed to free up space and time. It was supposed to give me room – literally and metaphorically – to grow. Well, I’d like to prevent growing in size, but you get the idea. A magic hand trick to happiness. Everlasting if possible.
Alas, it ain’t so.
What now? Abandon the project? Surely not! No, that isn’t going to happen. By the way, you cannot really get back ten bags full of stuff you had previously thrown away. Anyway. Though, what is in order, is looking at the situation at hand and using that fluffy stone in your head. Analyse, if you will.
Physically, the whole ordeal was a success. The only small hitch is three boxes of stuff that cannot be just thrown away with regular garbage or is better served finding a home elsewhere. Turns out getting rid of these during a pandemic is a logistical problem not to be scoffed at. The easiest way would be to throw money at the issue, but I feel like this is the root of the undertaking in the first place, and well yeah, I don’t exactly sit on a throne of gold either.
All in all, I am happy with that side of things.
Now, mentally this is another magnitude of the issue. I was expecting my brain to be inventive enough to come up with more ways to fill the space left by useless social media scrolling. Turns out there are a billion OTHER ways to lose valuable time in front of a computer screen.
I hope this gets easier, but I will confess that I am addicted. Fuck, I caught myself checking LinkedIn daily. Not actively looking for a new job, but rather to fulfil my brain’s inherent need for connection. Withdrawal sucks, and maybe quitting social media ‘cold turkey’ isn’t the best idea.
Guess I’ll have to stick through it anyway. Because under all these nervous ticks (How often can you lift up your phone to check for notifications without a reason before it becomes comical? I am asking for a friend.), I can feel this is right. It drives me insane.
Maybe the emptiness is compounded by lockdown and ongoing plague. Likely, I am just friggin’ impatient. However, the worst aspect of this vast, empty time in my day is the lingering idea that I just don’t have anything about me to fill it with. The thought I might be a whole lot more boring than I thought, fills me with dread. Did I pack my apartment and my head with this barrage of clutter to fill a void that was always there? Or does my brain need time to adjust? Maybe all it needs is more encouragement to spread its wings.
And fly eventually.