Ah yes the end of summer is drawing close with the sudden near for the heaters to be turned on, the digging through drawers to find sweaters. the yellow highlights on the trees. The change of seasons always have it out for me. Every season leads to a rise or fall of my mood and ambitions. Coming into spring I can’t help but clean and tidy. I look forward to the warmth and the people in the town. Summer means work, lost time, but purpose. I fancy I’ll spend any free time hiking or riding my bike, meeting new people, growing a garden, using every last minute of daylight. Fall is a¬†welcomed with the slowing of work, the tidying of last details, preparing for the winter, some time to pause and look back. Winter is the longest. It comes all too quickly on the heels of fall and stays dormant. I find idleness to be my vice. I will myself to learn new crafts, to read, to be introspective but instead it seems to take all my energy to go about a normal routine. Yet how I could never imagine myself living an a place of perpetual summer.

These past few weeks I have been feeling restless. Jealous. Unfulfilled. My work and photography brings me so much happiness and introduces me to the most fascinating of people so that is not the source. It is just that I can’t imagine my previous self would be proud of my current self. I would hold myself to a higher standard. To be constantly bettering myself, challenging myself. Yet I have promised myself to get into shape as I was years ago but that is hardly something I have pursued. I promised myself to teach myself whittling, yet all the tools are still unused. I hope to pick up what was once my greatest passion, reading, but I am lucky if I read the newspaper once a week. I have grown predictable and dare I say lazy. Settling into lull of sameness. And this is my greatest fear.

I wonder if perhaps it is a result of my father. A man who lived his life to the fullest. Who traveled, trekked, climbed, read three newspapers a day, multiple books a month (while somehow managing to keep a mental library as to all of them), worked, biked, explored, talked to people all over the world, picked up hobbies, was passionate about music and literature. One of his most common sayings was ‘if you aren’t living on the edge, you are taking up too much space’. Someone who lived the average man’s life ten times over; yet seeing him nearly lost to a disease makes me lament how much he is missing. How I now have the opportunity to do the same, yet am seemingly wasting so much time on menial tasks. I feel a constant need to better myself.

I haven’t traveled in a couple years. I haven’t truly experienced anything quirky or strange recently. I use to define myself with such ventures but they are so few and far between.

So I figure this post is more a reflection and a public declaration. To travel, to move, to experience, to learn new things and languages. To betterment.


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