I haven’t written the entire year. I wish I could paint a superfluous busy schedule justifying the lack of regularity in something that I promised to do regularly. I have been doing different things this year, and I have gotten into an entirely new schedule. I am surrounded with better people,and a healthy ecosystem for my brain to function. Qualitatively, I am at a better place in my head. But, as shallow as it may seem, I have an utter lack of tragedy in my life. Which in many ways is detrimental for people who are organically not very passionate about life or are borderline nihilistic.Self-expression is a fine art but what do you do when you barely feel diverse things to contemplate on? Expressing tragedy is interesting. Expressing depression is entertaining. But expressing the mundane, which is about 80% of someone’s average life, is challenging.
Getting into a fixed routine, contrary to the popular opinion, has made me brain-dead. I am not up at odd hours contemplating the realm of universe I live in, or if cows are (marijuana-induced) high all the time. I go to work at 10 am every day. I work for 8 hours a day, I crib about work for the next 2 hours of the day. Then I order some grand sounding food to makeup for the lack of grandiose in my life, text ‘Hey what’s up? I’m good!’ under the garb of real conversations and go to sleep by 1 am.
The other thing I’ve fallen prey to is ‘partying’ or the conventional idea of ‘having fun’. I loathed the idea of them when I used to think through my brain, but this entire year, the only thing I have created memories out of is partying. Sure they look glamorous in my social media account, but honestly, there’s nothing, more bland and redundant than parties. But, the corporate culture has been designed in a way that paves way for a sedentary lifestyle disillusioned with happy-looking drunken photographs from the past . The tighter you adhere to the corporate schedule,the lesser energy you have at the end of the day, to engage in anything wholesome, and the more time and money you end up spending on mindless chattering with people who have never understood the idea of living a wholesome life.
As I backtrack to my pattern of being, I notice the one thing that has been significantly different this year, is that I felt happy. With or without someone. Entirely on my own accord. Or I barely had the time to sit and think about the definition of unhappiness. I was too busy adhering to my schedule and giving in to my whims. Which I don’t complain about. But happiness is a state of mind, and the mind can often easily be manipulated into feeling happy by ticking social check-lists. Graduated? Check. Full-time job? Check. Enough money to not be answerable to my parents? check. Fair amount of attention from the gender of interest? Check. Adequate photographs on Instagram exhibiting a fun-life? Check. On paper, self-reliant feminist? Double Check.
Now, lets address the archaic elephant in the room.
Am I happy?
Going by the social checklist, sure I am. There is no tangible reason to be unhappy about. But, Is this all there is to life? An odd 100 years of not feeling tragic? A life spent being grateful about the lack of misery?
P.S: Anybody who is itchy about commenting ‘true happiness lies in serving others’ can obviously fuck off from this page.