Throughout the month of May, I spent every entry focusing on the theme of "Change." Specifically, I looked inwardly and tried to find areas in which I saw weakness; by identifying them, maybe I'd be proactive in combating them. I don't know if this was a success or not--I'm certainly more aware of the areas of my life I consider weaknesses, but who knows if I'll ever address them. Who knows? Do I care enough about this shit?
It's a little awkward to look back on everything I wrote in the past month. I knew what I was doing, as it was a deliberate attempt to face some personal demons. But as someone who spent his life fighting every change at every turn, it's hard to see if any cathartic effect occurred. Until today, I could honestly say that it had not.
Until today.
There are a few things I've considered myself very good at: thinking, playing games, reading, sometimes writing, sometimes making jokes. Gun to my head, the only thing I'd say I've ever been consistently great at is surrounding myself with excellent people. I've lived my life as kind of a douche in order to meet the aforementioned benchmarks I set for myself. But no matter what, I made sure that those around me were the funniest, smartest, rowdiest, craziest, wrongest, rightest, brightest, dumbest, all-around best people a person could find. Have I had a conversation with you? Congratulations: you are among the best and most-wanted. And I really want to appreciate you more than I have.
Which brings us to June. If May was about "change", June is about "the future." In previous posts, I hinted about what I was going to change my lot in life; I recognized things that needed to be altered but didn't really offer any direct options about what exactly I was going to change in order to be happy. Thankfully, I now know what the first step I need to take in order to be happy.
I need a better chair.
A good friend of mine, the indomitable Andy Visser, has a very simple five-year plan: no matter what happens, I need to find a more comfortable chair. Andy's done the whole change thing; he's moved from Minnesota to the "great" state of Rhode Island to what must be the much better city of Boston, Massachusetts. Now, let's be clear: he is adamant about his love for Rhode Island, however misplaced it may be. But the fact remains that Andy has done and experienced some serious changes in the past few years.
I have, too. I mean, this is my blog, this is ostensibly about me. I went from living a life of wild, unrestrained hedonism to a life of controlled chaos. When a doctor looks you in the eyes and says "Hey, you may be dead in the next 20 years"--when you are goddamn 26 years old, mind you--things tend to take a sudden left turn. Not that I'm complaining, of course. Much like Hunter S. Thompson, I only ever planned on 50 years. Who needs more than that? Anymore just seems greedy.
When Andy and I were talking about shortened life spans, the topic of short-term goals came up as well. I'm sure he was humoring me, but Andy talked about the titular five-year goal and his was so simple, so appropriate, so downright correct that I had to talk about it. I had to drink a few glasses of wine and expose the sheer beauty of finding a better chair.
I laughed, too. I mean, who wouldn't? Your life has seen some pretty big changes--moving to a new state, finding new roommates, settling into the job of your dreams. Where is the consistency? Whether we like to admit it or not, most of our time is spent in front of a computer. It may be at work, it may be at home, it may be at the local coffee shop where guess what?--you aren't as cool as you think, buddy--but we are always ALWAYS connected to our computers. If you have to stare at a computer all day/for all of your free time/whenever you feel like it, you might as well be enjoying the experience.
When Andy first said "In five years, I want a really great chair", I laughed. Who wants a nice chair? We're all sitting, when you think about it. Nobody checks e-shit from a standing position. Anyone who says otherwise is a liar. But thing about it: you're at work. You're at home. You're at the local coffee shop, hoping against hope that someone asks what you are writing about. In any situation, you are sitting. And waiting. And doing what needs to be done.
There are curveballs all of the time. Almost nothing happens like we think it will. What is important is that we approach the things we can handle with some open-mindedness. Although things may look bad, whenever you focus on a specific goal, it happens. The majority of the time, we allow ourselves to fixate on what is right in front of us. Five years may seem like a long time, but when you set a goal that is reachable--a comfortable, ergonomic, and let's be honest, colorful--chair, things tend to become more clear.
Finding faults is easy. Talking about them is easier. Making a plan to fix them is easiest. Following through on them? Much, much more difficult. Having a five-year plan: one that's easy, comfortable, and most of all funny is the important part.
Until an asteroid,
Adam
