I Don’t Want Exciting. I Want Boring.

On Chasing Nothing, Letting Go of Everything, and Finding Self

Photo by Thought Catalog on Unsplash

I pace like a ghost around my living room in the dark. The music’s stopped playing. The books don’t hit the same. I’ve watched all the documentaries I can stand. The conversations are draining. The tea’s gone cold. It’s 10:36pm and I should be sleeping, but my mind and my body can’t quite get on the same page these days. Either I’m physically exhausted and mentally wired or physically present but mentally absent. Knew this was coming, but there’s no way to brace for a tsunami when all you’ve got is a small dinghy and a quiet hope.

When I moved three housemates in with me and took over my basement, I joked with friends that I wasn’t going to wear pants for the next two years. But I’ve been fully dressed each day. Dressing nice like I’ve got somewhere to go besides my desk and someone to see besides my bed.

As the bracing chilliness of winter fast approaches, I’ve started wearing my t-shirts and sweatpants. My once-excellent memory is sporting frequent, small holes. Last week, I thought about the pulls I have toward isolating myself. Now, I live in a house with 2.5 more people, yet loneliness is still a frequent companion in some ways.

My cynicism and my idealism can’t seem to get on the same page these days. Either the world’s on fire and I can’t make myself care. Or I care way too much. Either, I’m content for the first time in years. Or I’m convinced I’m going to die in my bed with nobody to notice.

As a kid, whenever adults would ask me “what do you want to be when you grow up?” I would falter at the sudden blindness of my heart. I knew they meant what job do you want to have, but my answers to the question never quite fit right. Like a pair of high heels when I really wanted to be barefoot in a forest. Who knows? Who cares?

As I got older, the vision never got clearer until I realized it was the wrong question. I’m more interested in who I want to be when I’m 80, and careers won’t get me there. Neither will achievements, other people, or legacies.

My friends are sweet with valid points, but most didn’t grow up indoctrinated into the nonsense I was. They think my caution and overthinking is mostly fear…