I’ve begun to see how I’m affected. I carry with me a new sense of gravity, one that has not made me jaded, but rather the sense that I need to re-evaluate my life.
We played a “Big fish, Small fish” during group today and one member insightfully brought up the point that old habits die hard. That we’ve become so accustomed to using the associated hand gestures to indicate size, that it’s tremendously difficult to change. We become so fixated on a particular behaviour, action or thought pattern that when we are asked to adapt accordingly, we find ourselves unable to break out of that cycle, that cycle that functions in the scheme of addiction. And each of us comes with our very own addictions, cycles that we remain trapped in because as John Mayer sings, its comfortable. Like the destructive thought patterns that tear us down, the repetitive unnecessary routines, the favourable images we try to keep up. For what purpose really?
We rationalize that we’re safe, cautious and near picture-perfect but yet, a dose of reality shatters our apparent perfect little world. And with each blow, we choose either to quit, to relapse or to find a substitute to replace what we take away. Addictions, emptiness expressed in our quirky little ways.
The solemn gravity that grips me has much to do with waste and that same sense of unfulfillment I feel when I listen to Corrinne May’s 33, about it being the age that He died for me.
There is this inner dissonance I’m trying hard not to feed, because I’m clearly acquainted with broodiness and its consequent effect on me. But somehow, today feels a little weightier, as if I’ve magically aged overnight and find myself in slight despair over life wasted and time lost. That in light of our sharings about the past year, amidst laughters over supper and endorphin-loaded chocolate ice-cream prata, I feel this disconcertion looming over.
As if I’m old, or simply older.
Its time to evaluate, prioritise and get my life in order.
