I’m still very much trying to figure out what is and isn’t worth my time…what I do and do not wish to spend my sober days occupied with. These can be day-to-day, minute-to-minute; these can be life’s grand abstractions and bigger pictures. None of it ever stays in one place for very long, and it’s confusing as hell.
Forging a new identity is no small charge. There are parts of my past I wish to keep, as imbued facets of my personality; to rediscover them after so long, almost feels like coming home for a big holiday. There are also parts I never ever wish to touch again. Then, there are all the new bits that I’m learning as I go, often lost along the way.
But: there’s a huge line between the crushing apathy of clinical depression, and the jovial indifference to the unimportant when you’re just On Life. Where I would once upon a time Pick Up in the event of existential aimlessness? Now, I eventually come to the same conclusion, one way or another: I shrug, do my best not to dwell, and turn my attention to the next thing.
I don’t always get to that point straightaway, but it is almost always there waiting for me. Why you stressin’? Ain’t no thing.
For example: I could sit here and try to navigate the nonsensical maze of shit in my mind that folds in upon itself exponentially…or I could move on with my life and fold my laundry, so I can cook an egg and watch the new season of House of Cards while I eat it. *shrugs*
What it do? Just be. As always.