Mood: Tired, but the good kind of tired

Listening: Got to leave this house

It’s the end of the year and like many I’m taking stock. This chapter of my life is just about over, and I’m not sure how well I’m going to weather the next one.

It might be a very short intermission or it might last the rest of my life, time will tell. If I keep my head and try hard enough I think it has a decent chance of going well.

As I finish up here things are coming into focus, like finally getting the point of a book as you reach the last few pages.

I guess I feel some way about the last 6 years, but I haven’t decided which yet. The last time I was in this position I was a completely different person, one I don’t particularly like now, and I can’t help but wonder how I’ll feel about 2024 me when I next change tac.

I’ve grown a fair bit this year, I’ve done more and seen more, been more. I’ve tried, really tried for the first time in a long time to get better at the things I’m bad at, and I’ve mostly failed. Not entirely, but mostly. And I think that’s probably OK, I have strengths and weaknesses, same as anyone, but it does feel bittersweet; this is who and what I am, this is what I’ve got.

This is probably the first year in my life that I’ve actually met most of my personal goals; I’ve lost weight, I’ve done a lot of running, I’ve got stronger, been more social, tried to be kinder. I didn’t really achieve any of the material things I’m supposed to want to do this year, or get very far with them at all, and part of me thinks that’s a good thing.

I could “have” what is supposed to be a good life on the path I’m on, stable job, mortgage, car, holiday every year, etc. but I’ve backed away from doing that at least 3 times this year. It definitely means something that thinking about spending the rest of my life as I am now makes me want to die.

Absolutely everything feels meaningless, except sometimes everything feels like it is alive and heaving with meaning, the world is beautiful and endless and also already over; ash in my mouth.

I’m too far up my own arse, this kind of sophist nonsense always falls out of me in Winter. I’m going to indulge it, just this once, it’s Christmas after all. I can have a little treat.

Other than masturbating into a text editor and calling it reflection I’m also literally, physically taking stock at the moment. My own excess disgusts me, I’ve written about this before and to some extent it’s irrational but I think it might not matter that it is; people are irrational, I am no exception, intention matters.

Come January I’ll have a long list of stuff to give away or sell, starting with the computer I’m typing this on at the minute.

I want to drop everything and go to Sea again, get on a boat and head out, Ishmael had the right of it.

When I think of the few people I’ve met that live under sail full time I feel genuine envy, which is unusual for me. I know people with far more opulent lifestyles and I don’t really envy them.

I think it’s the freedom a sailboat offers and the things it forces you into, living with as little as possible, making choices at every turn. Maybe I’m a little drawn to the discomfort; the cold, the long nights with little sleep, water that tastes like metal, constant work.

I think that’s why I’m mothballing my current life, everything is soft, bubblewrapped. I’ve made a series of choices in the last decade that have prioritised safety and security before all else and this was both the smart thing to do and absolutely terrible for me, because life is boring now.

I’m aware I’m in a fortunate position but I’ve pigeonholed myself and I know getting out of that hole is going to be painful.

I’m looking forward to to finding out just how painful.