I woke up at 7:55am
today, promptly turned off the alarm, and went back to sleep. Practicing forgiveness is what I’m all about today. Forgiving myself. Taking it easy. When I don’t meet a goal to not throw everything to the wayside, but instead to just pick up where I left off and keep plowing ahead.
(Though this image of plowing ahead, of constantly striving, worries me a bit. Most people are capable of understanding two types of people, or only allow that two types of people exist in the world: those who strive to make things better, and those who don’t give a shit, or who are content to live “small” lives, or who never dare to go for anything bigger. One fallacy in this thinking is believing that he who strives is better off than he who doesn’t. But the real fallacy lies in the (mis)understanding of these people who are not striving. Maybe some of them have figured out how to get out of the “rat race,” how to live quiet, minimalist lives, and are immensely more fulfilled than the man looking for the nicer car, the nicer house, the cooler shoes, the more Slavic-looking girlfriend.
There is a third type of person, I just know it.)
I didn’t wake up early this morning. But I will from now on. Or maybe I’ll miss a day, but instead of saying, “Oh no, my 100 day plan for betterment is screwed now,” I’ll just pick up where I left off and forget it even happened. I still haven’t drunk alcohol. I still haven’t smoked cigs. I still haven’t gone on Facebook. And everyday, despite the fact that I have leather boots, I sprint for a short period of time, and it’s exhilarating. The Best Wetz plan is still in full swing, even if my life doesn’t feel much different.
When I think back on my life a month ago, surfing the beaches in Chile and driving around in Wendy, I despair. Two months ago, in Monteverde with a wonderful person, feeling immeasurably happy, eating long, drawn-out breakfasts, going for walks, climbing up the hollow trunk of a ficus tree. Three months ago, on a beach somewhere in Mexico, in Michoacan or Colima, paddling toward the horizon of the big blue ocean by myself! Catching a wave, everything a mess of sunshine and foam and blue, the heat, the happiness.
And now I’m in Hamburg, and it’s dark and cold and it all feels a bit masochistic. And I’m turning into a broken record. Things suck here. But I’m going to stick it out (though of course I always say that). Because I feel like I need to. Because I’ve never stuck anything out. My whole life has been a dream. That time in Mexico was a dream. That time in Costa Rica with that girl was a dream.
Except, of course, it wasn’t a dream, and it’s all still right there.
But I have to merge that dreamworld with reality, that’s why I’m still in Hamburg. That’s why I don’t just fly to Costa Rica right now, even though I very well could. It’s not masochism per se, it’s more, well, I’m figuring out what it is. You know how I always talk about following your path, knowing what your path is and just trusting? Well, I’m still on my path. It’s just a weird path. German is an ugly language. Hamburg is depressing. But I’m still 100% convinced (see: 35% convinced) that I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be, doing what I’m supposed to be doing, and that all is well in the world.