The brain needs what the heart wants sometimes.
Working two jobs and worrying about my future as a 20 year-old Gen Y-er with a double-degree to nowhereville…it’s a headache. So it’s good–nay, necessary–to chuck that out of your brain once in a while. Take a Mental Health Day. Forget things like futures and careers and education exist.
I mean, in the big picture, like, the REALLY big picture…what does that stuff even mean? You become a homeless bum: you live, you die. You become Bill Gates: you live, you die. The difference is: were you happy when you were living? Did you think your time on Earth was worth it? Did you regret not getting around to something?
It’s true we don’t ask for our lives. Hell, I’ve met people who’d rather not live. But it’s the card that’s been dealt to us. We’re here, today, tomorrow, the next few decades for us young’uns. We gotta make the time unregrettable, unwastable.
I hadn’t had a free Sunday in a long, long, time. Probably a month. Or more. Last Sunday was my first no-obligations, no-strings-attached, no-stupid-errands day in a really, really long time. So I dragged a couple of friends, got on my longboard (which I hadn’t ridden in a year at least), and skated the 6.6k of the Vancouver Seawall that loops around Stanley Park. It was a gorgeous day, brilliant weather, not too cold and not too hot. We took goofy pictures, climbed rocks, crashed a jazz festival, stuck gum on a statue of Douglas Coupland (after getting free gum from the jazz festival). I learned how to play the harmonica and ate the best yam fries ever on a picnic table in the middle of a street.
Honestly, it wasn’t the most interesting day I’d had in my life, but it was easily the best day I’ve had in a very long while. And all for super simple silly reasons: I was outside, I was with people I liked, I ate good non-pricey food, I didn’t think about work or school. I didn’t even need a drop of alcohol, and I came home before my parents did.
It’s been stressful: adjusting to a fulltime work-week, commuting 3 hrs/day, frustrated that I can’t write blog posts to the quality I’d like. Frustrated that I haven’t been able to write, or prioritize writing.
Often times as writers we forget how much living factors into writing. And I don’t mean living wildly, adventurously, crazily. Just plain ol’ livin’ on a student budget. I went out for an interesting day off; I came home and wrote about it. Perhaps it’s as easy as that: live and write. Live. And write.