It’s said that desire is half of life, and indifference is half of death. These days, I’ve been swimming in the shores of death. As the year draws to a close, I review all that has been in the past 11 months and I’m surprised by the richness of its activity, yet its poverty in feeling. I traveled to six countries, three of it which I had never been to before and one of which continues to be afflicted by war. And in these last two months of the year, I find myself in another effort to inject something different into my life by plonking in an environment outside of my comfort zone, in a city and country of which I have no connection with, and amongst people I would not usually expose myself to. Perhaps with this adrenalin boost, the blood could come pumping into my arteries again.
Still, not yet. The heart rate continues to stay at baseline, the blood remains a little frozen. There is a struggle to remain enamoured by life. Most of my internal state fluctuates between a bored flatline or deep death related anxiety. There is no pleasure, no excitement, no curiosity. Or perhaps so much of my life had been feeling too much of everything and this is what it’s meant to be like for most of the population – to stay grounded and unflinching about meeting new people, seeing new places, trying new things. Perhaps this is what being an actual grown up entails – controlled joy, sadness, hope etc. Perhaps, even worse, this is the luxury of the bourgeoisie – that so much of what’s good in life is so available that there is no strife to reach.
Who knows? It’s a slightly disconcerting phase to hover in, and the hope is that it will pass. As with all bouts of the internal journey, I try to stay with where ever I am at that given moment and hope that in hindsight, everything will be better dissected and understood.