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Lifeless. Limp. Like there is no point to life. Nobody wants to feel this way.

It is not a choice. It just kind of happens. This feeling has been creating inertia in me. I want to rub a mood ring and have it tell me that this is not my reality. I find this rut building on itself.

One of my favorite fitness fanatics I look up to, Jesse Itzler says, “Pressure is a privilege”. Lately, I want to take all the pressure off. I have been simmering on the burner for so long. I don’t get the point of why I do half the things I do. The summits I attend, the classes I take, the jobs I apply to, the emails I send. Will they pay off?

I evaluate my decisions on things that my future self would not regret. Lately, I don’t even know what my future self wants.

This period in my life has been the first time that I don’t have something to look forward to. Why am I restless without having future plans? Why does making the most of the present cause discomfort? In school and jobs, I always had benchmarks.

Why won’t this feeling go away? Where had my lust for life gone?

I go on runs and intentionally get lost in a new neighborhood in hopes that I will find trust in myself. That I know myself and can lead myself out of this rut. That I am a problem solver. I can motivate myself when challenges present themself.

There are so many scapegoats to choose from. This feeling could be because of the end of summer. Lack of sunlight. The hysteria of catching coronavirus. Sadness of current inequity in the world. Lack of exploration and travel. Confusion in my career. Injury from my long run. It is my feeling though. A thermometer reacts to the temperature of its atmosphere. Rather, I want to be a thermostat that responds and recalibrates.

I don’t want to be sluggish anymore. My choice is to get going to feel better. The inertia stops here. At its Greek root, lethargia means forgetful. I refuse to fail to remember what lights me up. This is an awakening to drive me to get going again. As Arnold H. Glasow said, “Live in the present and make it so beautiful that it’s worth remembering.”


A letter to 10-year-old me

A Letter to Boredom

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