There’s something impressive about managing to go more than a year without updating my blog. I suppose the time has come for a bit of reckoning, however, and there’s no time like the present.
When we last spoke, I’d just freed myself from the bonds of my job and was basking in the glory of radical freedom. The end of fall and the beginning of winter were rough in terms of freezing ice storms, pet emergencies, and general mental illness, but spring arrived and things began to improve. I started going on regular walks, first at Hermann Park, then at the Arboretum. I haven’t tallied the total miles logged for 2021 yet, but it’s by far my most active year. I took a trip back home in May, saw a couple of friends, and ate good food.
This trip prompted Kara and me to start entertaining the notion of moving back, though that’s been a source of endless frustration since we started looking into that and, to be honest, I’m still skeptical anything will ever come of it. After a summer and early fall tending the animals while Kara spent quite a bit of time back home, I came to the conclusion that I needed to get back to work and started applying for the various teaching positions still open halfway through the fall semester. Amusingly, though perhaps not surprisingly, I ended up back at my old school in essentially the same position. It was jarring at first, but I’m generally glad to be back in the classroom. It’s a job that suits me on many levels, even if it frequently leaves me exhausted.
As this year grinds toward its end, I find myself reflecting on several things: there’s the 2021-in-review one might expect, but I’m also examining my life more thoroughly these days, trying to correct past mistakes and avoid making new ones. I really packed on the pounds during the early lockdown and although I’ve mostly made it back to where I started pre-pandemic, that was already close to my heaviest point at the time, so I’ve got a ways to go before I’m anything near a healthy weight.
Interpersonal relationships are also really weighing heavily on my mind these days. After a ton of writing, reflection, therapy, etc. it’s become painfully obvious that I’m somewhere on the aromantic spectrum, or close enough for all practical purposes. It was honestly something of a relief when it finally dawned on me: for decades now I’ve marveled at my total inability to form healthy, long-lasting romantic relationships. Things invariably seemed to fizzle out over time and I just couldn’t fathom what was wrong with me. At this point, I’m honestly not sure how to proceed with this new revelation; it’s been several years since I’ve had an actual relationship or even been on a date, for that matter. People grate on my nerves more easily than they used to and my criteria for most forms of intimacy have only grown more stringent. I’m starting to doubt I’ll have a real connection with anyone like that again.
One thing I’ve been quite happy about recently has been my sustained writing/journaling habit. Granted, I’ve been absolute dogshit at blogging, but I filled a 400-page Moleskine journal recently and I’m already making good progress on a second one. I’ve also started a separate notebook specifically for creative writing as well. So far it’s mostly been journal entries about the world I want to set some stories in, but I plan on writing actual creative works in it too. Expository writing has always been my go-to for better or worse. Hopefully, I can get past some of these blocks and let my creativity flow.
Overall, I’m interested in exploring more ways in which I can live my life to the fullest. Embracing mindfulness has helped me change my approach to daily tasks. I can’t say it’s done wonders for my mental health in terms of actually reducing depressive or anxious feelings, but it has helped me accept them and process them instead of being floored by them. As I first recognized a while back, I feel like a lot of what I’m doing is simply trying to learn how to do this weird thing called living.
