Daydreaming on autopilot.
The older I get, the more I realize: life is the biggest carrot dangler of them all.
I’m embarrassed to admit that I still fall for its silly tricks, time and time again, even after all these years. Chasing dreams, feelings, possessions, validation, people.
I don’t mean to say that life is just that, a chase. That there’s no reward, no timeout, no end. Sure there is. Most of us live for those tiny pockets of time when the chase briefly stops, when we finally escape its clutches. For others, the chase is all there is.
Still, whether we like the chase or we despise it completely, we’re in the long race for good.
We’re not silly puppets, slaves to the whims of life, or blind followers of whatever life decides to dangle in front of our eyes. We do get a say in what we want to chase. Not so much in the act of chasing itself.
As always, I write to find my point. And my point is this: this tiresome chase leaves me feeling drained. So drained that I have no choice but to let most of my life run on autopilot.
I’ve always been bad at multitasking, not just at work, but in life too. If I’m deeply invested in something, whether it’s work, a major life event or a relationship, I find it so hard to give energy to anything else.
Now more than ever, because my life has been slowly expanding in all directions (for which I am grateful), I despair at the thought that I don’t have enough energy for everything and everyone I care about. Including myself.
Living on autopilot is far from ideal. It’s subpar. Mediocre. Unsustainable for me. I feel like I’m barely scratching the surface. I feel this the strongest when it comes to my writing. It’s scarce and superficial. Anemic.
Daydreaming on autopilot is worse. It means that I consciously close the door to my imaginative, dreaming mind, leaving it alone, to its own devices. It goes without saying that I don’t want to keep doing that.
The only cure I’ve found so far is to make sure, really really sure, that I do something for myself every day. Something that makes me feel something, anything, that moves me, gives me meaning and purpose.
It can be walking outside after work in the rain, reading a good book or writing. Or something else entirely.
That’s my anchor. It’s not a very sturdy one, but at least it’s there.
Maybe this is what being an adult is. Realizing that life is a chase, you have to choose your race, make the best of it and live with the consequences. Prioritizing, again and again and again.
And turning on autopilot when it gets to be too much. It’s a necessary evil.
You say that your writing is superficial, but the subjects you are writing about aren't superficial at all. Even if you must prioritize other things over writing, even if you don't seem to have the time you'd love to have for yourself, the simple fact of allowing writing to exist, anemic as you judge it to be, is a win. Everyone's life is average, don't worry. Adventurous, exceptional and eventful lives are a myth. Most of us are in a constant fight for each and every moment we can free for our passions.
I feel this. At times it is so hard switching from daily grind mode to creation connection fun life.
The non-negotiable. That’s what I call the things that keep my spirit bright and a pep in my step. Daily walks. Reading. Writing in my notebook. When I think I can skip any of them I say...
“Jenovia, would you go to bed without washing your face or brushing your teeth?” That jolts me back into the commitment I’ve made to myself. ❤️