About Adulting and Oases
Post 332:
Begrudgingly hitting the alarm clock. Reluctantly putting on a pot of coffee. Yawning as the day’s duties pile up to the clouds.
The things that have to be done.
If life teaches anything, it’s that there is no hiding from the mundane. The dull and dreary. Monotony, going through the motions, it’s simply a fact of life.
There are minds well suited for the task; others do their damnedest to avoid reality, wishing for miracles or higher purpose—for today to be the day.
Hoping isn’t a vice, but too much of it can stall the soul. It can belay the little progresses that must be seen to.
Most importantly, wishing and wanting blind one to the truth that regular old life can be pretty good—great, even. I don’t write this to proselytize for the anodyne that is contentment—contentment is just as dangerous as hope. Thinking one has it made and thinking that this can’t be all there is; this is a balancing act that can only be taken on by adults.
As far as I can tell, that’s pretty much the point of the entire exercise of adulthood. When you’re a kid you want things. When they don’t come, it’s because life’s not fair.
Of course it isn’t. But fighting against the intractability of the grind is a noble pursuit, one that takes a certain soundness of mind and feet firm to the ground.
I don’t like it any more than the next person, but there it is.
Trudge. Wade through the muck. Only realize that small moments of joy or peace or victory are to be savored.
Basically, give yourself a break. Maybe that means putting your feet up, climbing a mountain, taking a walk around town. Doesn’t matter. Every now and again, ambition and plans and all those have to’s can be put on the backburner.
Simple advice, I know. But it’s more of a reminder. My recommendation: Talk to a friend and have a laugh. It’s the best of all medicines and can make those long hard walks through the desert bearable. Little moments of happiness are nothing less than oases. Fall down and dunk your whole head in. Take your fill, and get going.
The desert isn’t moving. It’s your job to do that. Cheers and see you after.
