I was going to write that I’ve recently come to the realization that I don’t care about getting things done, but that would be a lie. I’ve known for a long time that getting things done, achieving things, is boring to me. I just don’t care. I don’t have health goals or career goals. I don’t want to fix any of the world’s problems. I don’t want to produce or publish anything. There are some things I’d like to own and experiences I think are fun, but I tried to make a bucket list and it had two things on it. Marry my sweetie some day and remember that the Divine and I are simultaneous. That’s it.
Beyond that, it’s making enough money to pay the bills so I have time and space for myself and the things I like. I like painting and sex and great conversations and writing poems and dancing and affection and living to the edges of this human I am. That’s probably why I haven’t been here lately. A list of things to do doesn’t interest me. I’m far more interested in how I feel than what I do. It feels good to admit that. I don’t care what my job title is or what car I drive or where I’ve traveled or what movies I’ve seen or how long I can run or how much I’ve written.
I really want to be fully okay with caring about being and not doing in a culture that judges on doing.