Fatigued figuring
I need a long nap
As I write this, it’s a rainy day in San Francisco, and I’ve been lounging in bed all day, sick. The time has passed slowly and quickly, as I slide in and out of sleep and in and out of episodes of The Sopranos, the book I’m reading, and the film Paris, Texas. I know these things are great works of art, but in my state, I find it hard to feel as appreciative; maybe the immune system takes energy away from the awe system.
It feels like the ability to be our best selves comes in waves, but we’re our worst selves all at once. It’s in sickness or tiredness that we’re worse at thinking and at acting, at not getting angry, at being generous or at seeing the world in sincere wonder. But it’s only in certain moments that we’re able to be our most generous or most thoughtful, joyously moved by everything that we see. Only when we have our fragile little bodies in perfect order and let our minds mold to a moment does it all click together for one virtue or another, maybe a couple at a time if we’re lucky.
I had a great weekend, walking something like 10 miles on Saturday before a lovely Lunar New Year party and watching the Super Bowl on Sunday with more people than I thought could possibly fit in my apartment. I was grateful to spend the time with my friends, to see an exciting game to finish off the NFL season, to see the sun trickling in through the windows each morning as I made my coffee after weeks of rain.
But the tiredness of it all has not subsided; the symptoms of a few too many poor nights of sleep are catching up to me now, leaving me bedridden for the day.
When some level of exhaustion builds up, you start to question everything — whether any of your time is well-spent, whether you’re focusing on the right things, whether you’re working hard enough for your job or for your writing. Stupid questions of insecurity appear that are haunting nevertheless: Is any of this worth anything? Have I built a life out of moldy bricks that will slowly erode me? I fight these off with ease. I’ve gone down these roads enough times to know that there’s nothing for me there.
I do let myself wonder about one thing though. I fear that there’s an upper limit to my ability to balance the things I see as comprising a Good Life™. I’ve spent years trying to find the materials that might fit together into a life that seems worthwhile, and now I find myself trying to piece them together in the 24 short hours of my life. These materials include performing well at work, exercising regularly, seeing my friends multiple times a week, eating well, sleeping over eight hours, and maintaining a consistent writing practice. And even these feel like bare minimums before including things like travel and trying new things!
This is a bizarre week for me, a rare one where I haven’t had an idea for Splash cooking in my head throughout the week. Instead, I’m here writing about whatever comes to mind, picking pebbles out from the stream and hoping there’s anything that shines. Every writer has ended up writing about the difficulties of writing when blocked, and every writer ends up reflecting on what led up to the block. I wonder if I was unable to come up with a topic earlier because I was too busy socializing all weekend, or thinking about work, or exercising a little bit more than usual.
Am I facing the limits of my own brain and body? Am I squeezing a stone, hoping it springs water? Or is the fatigue going to my head as I seek to find answers to problems that aren’t really as big of problems as I’m thinking they are? It’s perfectly possible that I’m only a few nights of good sleep and a couple of coffees from being completely past this, for this doubt to evaporate away as I get back into my routine.
Increasingly, faith has become one of the most important parts of my life, but not in the way that I would’ve imagined. It’s more specific than faith in a particular higher power, but it’s faith in the cycles of life or the patterns that I’ve come to observe. I’m able to move through life with equanimity because I have faith in how things return. I know that the sun will rise each morn, that the gloaming turns to the darkness of night. I genuflect to the turning of the seasons and the seasons within myself. I move with faith that whatever ails me, thoughts big and small, will pass, as it always has, and hopefully always will.
💧 Drops of the Week 💧
PERFORMANCE - Wah Wah Watson with Herbie Hancock 1976 (live video) - Hang Up Your Hang Ups - I’ve been listening and watching this performance a ton lately.
POEM - “Sleep” by James Schuyler - Give my love to, oh, anybody.
I’ve also felt increasingly exhausted trying to do everything (social life, creative work, health, reflection etc)