July 15th, 2015

pigtails

Make the most of every day

Live in the moment.

You're a long time dead.

Squeeze as much as you can from life.

Don't just exist - live!

Dunno about you, but I feel like I'm bombarded with these inspirational messages pretty much constantly. In fact, every moment is filled with exhortations to make the most of it. Websites proclaim 10 Simple Steps To Make The Most Of Every Day!, cheerily providing lists of rules for how you too can go about cramming more life into your life.

Fuck that noise.

No, I'm serious. And yes, I know I'm the poster child for taking on too much, fitting more in, waking up at stupid o'clock and micro-scheduling so I can get more stuff done. Which is one of the reasons that being told I ought to run out and look at the pretty sunset makes me grumpily go "No, YOU run out and look at the pretty sunset!"

Don't get me wrong, I've nothing against sunsets, nor against the idea of consciously seeking to add valuable experiences to your life. But I'm getting the impression that it's becoming seen as a virtue that we should all strive towards, and to me that smells horribly like the protestant work ethic packaged up in hippy shit. Striving for a virtue sounds like work to me - and I should bloody know, strive is pretty much my middle name.

You know what? My life is no less rich for not having observed very many gorgeous sunsets (or sunrises). I'm ok with missing parties* and often choose inane mindless games over worthy literary fiction, trashy media over yoga, and crap food over eating healthy.

Because feeling like I'm obliged to milk every moment for its last drop of usable experience is EXHAUSTING. I think leaving the moment-milk where it is, is a valid option, and I'm getting kind of tired of the idea that anything less than 100% mindfulness 100% of the time is not really living.

I call bullshit, actually. My life is made up of a lot of stuff, and some of the stuff I find the most fulfilling is the bits in-between, when I'm not doing anything big or impressive. Succumbing to the couch's gravitational forcefield has a joy and beauty all its own, that's all the more sweet for the lack of effort involved.

So seriously, YOU go look at the sunset. I'll be here, on the couch, not milking. It's relaxing.

* I do suffer from the inbuilt need to have an excuse. "I don't enjoy parties, struggle making small talk with people, hate loud music unless it's at a rave, and I don't want to go" doesn't seem to cut it. Guess what my excuse always is? You guessed it - too busy.