Jetlag is the hot topic of travelling and mostly discussed in the context of long haul flights. Yes, completely reversing day and night is a tricky business, but when one takes on a longer trip, one normally accounts for that, too. For me the smaller time differences do the worst damage. I’ve just got back from London, which is two hours behind. And I can tell I’m going to be staring at the walls-ceiling for the next two hours, which means getting two hours less sleep. And work tomorrow. This is going to be fairly unpleasant.
But London was oh-so-necessary again. The past almost two weeks have been a rollercoaster of all sorts. I’m sure there’s a diagnosis for what I’ve been doing. I seem to plan my life so that I can run along a sine/cosine graph. I’m gasping for air in equal horror and excitement, feeling the most alive at that fraction of a second of suffocation.
I’ve talked about this with several people who make their living by making other people’s lives better with their creations in them. It seems to be the standard that the most complicated states of existence bring about the greatest creative flow. I think I experienced the same in London this time. In my own little microcosm, I outdid myself. The bar has been pushed higher. The final product will follow soon.
And now a little cryptic meditation. Fear is a strange thing, it makes people make decisions full of fear. At the very moment it might seem like a good idea, but how can people live with themselves with a whole closet full of ‘what if’ skeletons shadowing every step? I’m not even sure if it’s sheer cowardice or self-deception. But when has anyone ever really managed to fool themselves? The world would be a much more exciting – but also at times more difficult – place if people had courage to look themselves in the eye and be wholeheartedly truthful with themselves. Only then can honesty with others follow. And if you’re not honest, what are you? I’ve come to this point with a little help from some people who are much better at the introspection thing, and have thought me a lot about how to push your own thought so that they actually flow freer. Of course the trouble is that when you free yourself, the amount of information-feelings-thoughts to process grows exponentially (as a tangent, if I may get all trigonometric again). Only half-processing one’s own shiz, the outcome can never be fully satisfying. But yeah, I can understand the scariness of truth. It’s not called the inconvenient truth for no reason. But what do we want more? Complacency in our comfort zone, or a clear conscience and a peace of mind, regardless of the nature of the conclusion?
I vote for honesty. I vote for feeling alive in all forms.
Now listening to ‘Tangle’ by The Hics.