Lately I’ve been thinking about laziness. Which is apt, because thinking doesn’t require a lot of stamina, it can be performed using minimal energy and effort.
I’ve been thinking about my mp3 collection and how much harder it becomes year after year to seek out interesting and engaging music, it’s much easier to just switch on the radio every morning and bounce along to whatever the airwaves deems popular and therefore worth replaying every 20 minutes. It’s similarly just as easy to walk through your front door, plop on the couch, and press a couple buttons on the remote control to get passably entertaining drivel. It’s the very reason I’ve decided to cancel cable; the thoughtlessness, the mindlessness, was just killing me on the inside.
I’ve been thinking a lot about passion, and where exactly it went. When you’re a teenager, everything is a freaking crisis or mind-blowingly exciting. Things are tempered a little in your twenties, but instead of hyper-reacting to every situation, you develop an appreciative but mature appetite for life. Then I hit my thirties and it’s like I can’t feel anything anymore. Okay, that's a little maudlin of me, it's not like I'm dead inside. But I don’t obsess over the new tune I heard, my heart isn’t captured by a scene on TV or a passage in a book. I don’t find myself consumed anymore, not the way I used to be when a song or a TV show or a book or any hobby really would swallow me up and only let me go when my brain demanded I finally go to sleep.
I miss being interested and curious about things, exploring something new, expressing creativity through writing or singing or even just plain old imagination and daydreams. My life nowadays is more concerned with maintaining boring day-to-day responsibilities to myself; do the dishes, track your bills, buy groceries, plan that wedding, finish the laundry, get a good night’s sleep. There's no impetus for excitement and wonder anymore.
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