This time of year when everything has slowed down to a solid block of ice, I feel that I might lose myself under the weight of inertia.
Without a plan of action—nothing but ambiguity to keep me company—I can’t think of accomplishing anything.
Throughout my life people have told me they were planning to do something about their situation—change jobs, move to Alaska, get a divorce—and then weeks, months, and years would go by without them having done a thing.
I find that approach to life utterly unfathomable.
Recently a friend complained to me about her apartment—not for the first time. After years of dissatisfaction, she is still in the same place. And she is only renting.
Why doesn’t she just get up and go?
I have left rentals after one month, jobs after one week.
While other people have trouble making changes in their lives, I have trouble staying put and doing the same thing. This is the longest I've lived in one town since I left home at 17.
Maybe it’s my bipolar disorder that moves me to make changes. When I went into a deep depression in the past, I blamed everything in my surroundings for it—my job, my mate, my neighbors and the weather.
Making a big move has always helped to stimulate me out of those depressions. Starting over in a new place or a new job gives me an injection of manic energy.
I also like to accomplish things, so I use that energy to get the job done.
Then I look around and say, OK, what’s next?
For me, not taking action is unacceptable. I’d rather make the wrong move than no move at all.
And right now I have no move to make. It might be below zero outside, but inside I am warm and comfortable. I have interesting enough work to do. Life is basically good.
And that is so boring that I think I’ll take a nap.