The key to being happy is not looking forward.
This is not to say that you shouldn’t take time out at points, evaluate where you are and where you are going, and how that matches with what you want to happen. You should. Just not every time you make a small(er) decision or the sun sets, whichever comes first.
You’ve got to live in and enjoy the moment. That is never going to happen if you are constantly falling short of whatever impossible standard you’ve set yourself.
I love introspection. I enjoy talking about it too. But that is a black hole, and I feel that it is my responsibility to only flirt with the event horizon.
So these days I am in a state that I would have, two years ago, called superficial. I worry about the assigned reading, the assignments, the fact that I still haven’t finished a story I have been working on for two months now (forget the editing). But not too much. Instead I throw myself for one hour periods into classes, or research, or camphor-time, or planning-the-week-time during which I create a hard hours schedule that can’t be changed, and soft hour schedule that can, and for that one hour worry and think and love nothing else.
And the result?
I am told I look, sound, and appear more excited and generally happier. I don’t know if I am happier or not: that question prompts introspection and questions along the lines of what-is-happiness; this is not the hour for that.
So I’m declaring this experiment a success.
Three years of this blog (and the older one – but it’s like just the one blog to me) have gone past. I’ve blog addiction to no blogging, to a post every other day. I’ve been reading a whole lot more than I’ve been writing. And I had two epiphanies today.
- I don’t know what to do with this web-log. I mean, I’m not really into journals. I’m not very open, and I don’t think I can deal with spilling my guts – even about, say a neat eat-place I found (Tadka, Jayanagar 4th block). So not journal-blog. The poetry has been leaving me feeling a bit exposed and a bit vulnerable. I can’t put up – just can not – the latest I’ve written. The descriptive snapshots are no longer fulfilling. I’m not writing that stuff anymore.The basic problem seems to be that I don’t know what I want to do, except write something. (I’ve joined ScriptFrenzy, btw. I have no doubt it’ll go the NaNoWriMo way – halfway to the finish line and ka-splat!)
- Camphor-the-reader is an illusion. I’ve been re-reading this past month or two, and I realise that my willingness to read stuff has taken a sharpish dip. Familiar territory, here I come. And that scares me. For as long back as I can remember (4th standard, but I don’t remember much before that except school and rain and throwing salt on leeches in Gauwhati) books have been there. Why am I going off my most reliable addiction?
I’m not sure why this is here. Like I said, the journal makes no sense to me. But I think the ultra-organised logical phase is about to hit me again, which means the traditional blogroll may go back up; and the writing will dry up.
EDIT: #2 is no longer valid. I went and started the Amulet of Smarkand, and segued into the Anasi Boys and StarDust and now am reading O! Jerusalem again. And I am writing too much. Mom always said I did things by extremes. Looks like I’m doing too much rather than too little again. And then will come the burn-out phase.
I have a Roman coin: Janus looks both forward and back. Hence January, at the threshold of the old year and the new. Happy New Year! [Belated, of course].
I found a tag at Dreamcatcher’s, and I helped myself to it. It seemed to suit. 🙂
10 things I miss
- Home: Curd rice. 🙂 My brother, that fool. Small things.
- My books in one place and reachable.
- Hostel at college and all those late night chats. Exam times. Yes, really.
- Being in touch with friends. Knowing what’s up with everyone whom I want to know what’s up with.
- The time to read aitmiyaan-se.
- Being less cynical. And less worried. And so, World Peace. It seems that the world was nicer before.
- Free Sundays.
- Jalebi from Chitoor Bus Stand and friends who would take me there after I’ve cried my eyes out.
- Old friends who aren’t friends anymore.
- Enjoying Tirupati and Uttiramerur.
10 things I dream of doing in the next decade
- Live in Europe.
- Go bungee jumping off those cliffs in Australia, somehow.
- Work in Harvard – systems biology.
- Meet those people I’ve been planning to meet for years, but haven’t.
- Get married.
- Visit both Egypt and Israel. And Russia. And Japan. Possibly live in Japan.
- Write that book.
- Do meaningful research.
- Paint. Learn the Veena – what little I knew, I must have forgotten. Speak French and Italian fluently.
- Visit the Himalayas. Uttar Kashi or something. Also, Gwalior. Udaipur. Write in Tamil. And Hindi.
Don’t quibble. Some of those things are petty, perhaps, meaningless, perhaps, foolish perhaps. But that’s what I want to do. And eventually, I will. I hope.
Here’s to a new year:
pallandu petru palla kodi vazhgai;
[live long and prosper.]
what’s begun badly, goes smoothly later. I hope.