Rising into Mediocre Bliss

I’ve never been one for missed adventures. I like to be where the action is. I like living by the idea that the day I’ve just survived brought me something new – a new experience, a new friend, new knowledge or some sort of new outlook on a part of life.

The sad realisation is that not each day has all of this to give. At some point, every new morning really is just another morning. Lunch is pretty much the same. Work is work. Routine is routine. And before you know it, you’re lying in the same bed at the same time weeks later wondering what day it is.

This all kind of got me thinking:

I want everything. But I also want nothing. I want the award of happiness. But I want the bliss of being happy without needing anything.

I want to not always want more.

I used to attribute a lot of value to events. I think this is something most of us do. We look forward to the show. We wait for the weekend. We live towards our next holiday. We need something to look forward to because the idea of just doing nothing forces some sad notion into our heads that our lives are lame. There’s no time to chill. There’s only time to get busy and do shit.

How exhausting is it to keep expecting of your life to be more exciting. How terribly tiring to the mind to have to project some sort of fairytale-ised concept that what is now is not enough and what is next is everything. When I was younger I used to write about running from the chains of routine and the unfulfilling poisons of a responsible life plan and towards the prospect of an impulsive choice leading to a magnificent life. Dramatic, yes. Mind you, I DID make those impulsive choices and they sure led to some unforgettable adventures.

But as something different, what I’ve been doing for the past 3 months is a blissful pot of nothing. Most days are wasted away reading books, cooking weird new things, working out, eating a lot of broccoli, and going to bed at 20:30. No, I’m not your grandmother. I’ve simply never been this healthy, rested and well-read since I was a hadn’t-yet-discovered-beer student.

It has become all the more apparent that we feel happiness or despair based on how our minds compare our external environment and experiences to our expectations.

I’m not saying it’s greedy to look forward to the weekend. Or that being busy and making a lot of plans is too much. I’ve simply come to appreciate the bliss and the contentedness that a little touch of mediocrity gifts the soul.

Tomorrow I’ll drive the same route to the same job. I’ll come home to the same house with the same routine and I’ll end my day switching off the same light before closing my eyes and waking up to a new day.

My life is pretty average.

And for once, I’m pretty damn happy with that.

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