It is a weird feeling to plan a trip where the only person I have to take into consideration is myself. After living on my own for close to ten years now, that is certainly an odd realization to come to terms with and it sounds quite improbable, but is both weird and true at the same time. The again, these are interesting times that I am living in and catching up with myself has become such a rare occurrence that it required something like this to be done.
In all the craziness the past 8-months brought along with it, one thing I've attempted to do is to cut off effort levels at the macro and micro perspective at about 90%. This has gone a significant way in helping to prevent massive flame outs, as it has happened before, but there is still considerable room for improvement and I am still very much a novice in the fine art of being kind and considerate to the self, at least half as much as I am with others.
It is often quite tricky to understand whether the escape from 'me-first' is others finding their relevance in you or if it is your own attempt to find your relevance in others. Maybe it is a bit of both. Maybe either is not exactly true, but the fact is that there is avoidance of such times, unlike the days to follow, and it is probably with a good reason. Disappointment, tepidness? I do not know. It is probably the fear of opening that door and finding an empty space in there.
Maybe it is the fear of severance of that final sinew to things considered important through a lifetime that lies beyond that door. Maybe it is the embrace of greater freedom that negates any return to what is familiar that lies beyond the door. Fact is, there is something beyond it and I am not entirely sure what I should feel about it. Guess we will find out soon enough.
Practicality makes me wonder – what is the big fuss about it? It is a journey I have made more than twice before. I know the turns, I know the places. I know what to do and what not to. I am fairly responsible, even bordering on the overcautious. It is the stuff that dreams are made of for many, which most don't choose to realize. So, why the cold feet? Why are gremlins being visualized where there are none in real? What makes me fear so many days alone with myself, when there is little in life that I actually fear?
Maybe it is the massive disorientation caused by about two months of being caged largely inside four walls, enslaved by the mundane and the routine. I should be more careful next time. In curbing dissent and enthusiasm it is easy to crush the sense of the self to an extent that it finds it hard to get on its feet again. Everything in life has a price tag attached to it and sometimes, in instances like these, it is a bit too expensive.