Quick post, I hope, because I need to go to bed. But this might be rambly. A life – non-fitness post.
I know we are not ourselves divisible into well-defined compartments, but I almost feel as if I am. I mean, I have to be. There is no other way to function. I’m at a point right now where I can’t read books because they would remind me of too much I am missing out on. I can waste–spend–time on things that I consider less important in the grander emotional scheme, like working out and trying to stay focused on passing exams. But it’s temporary, to me, and it’s like I’m waiting to do the things I love, but this is going to be the rest of my life.
A high school friend I haven’t spoken to in years just emailed me to see what’s up, if I’ve changed, and she was always the contemplative, probing kind, and made me feel like I was deeper than I was. Not much has changed, I think, but on the surface I’m a lot more normal. The other stuff doesn’t really get a chance to show up. It reminds me, though, of when my ex said, you used to have good taste in music. At the time I think I was just listening to a lot of Japanese pop or something. And I agreed with him, even though it didn’t mean anything. I don’t care about that stuff. But it’s like what used to match up didn’t anymore–and doesn’t. How I think about myself, what I’m clinging to, the music and fiction and drama, the hungry parts–are traveling further from who I actually am becoming. I don’t like this.
Is it me, or is it life? Is this settling? Is it a lack of confidence? To pursue what you really love. Or is it self-preservation?
And everything else–is this how we cope?