Most days, I’m feeling blocked. A bit stuck within myself, like that feeling of trying to run in a dream. My imagination suggests something to do with my time, and I self-sabotage until the only time actually left is really enough to regret not doing the thing I imagined.
I feel I’ve developed “stunting” as a habit.
Life for me right now feels excessively boring and routine. Moving from one day to the next, I mostly spend my time walking the dog, working, working out, doing housework, cycling for errands, watching TV, and scrolling the internet.
I thought it was that last part causing the problem, too much time online, making me feel hopeless and angry. I’ve been off news and social media again, and, if anything, the cleanse has made me more aware of how I’m feeling. This is a good thing, but it’s also come with gloomy existential feelings, too. Have I already consumed the lethal dose, and the clickbait toxicity within me is just too high to recover from?
I’m going to pause here to call out my own self-pity and need to check my privilege. The poor man has a house to care for, a dog he can walk, and a secure job that pays well above the median wage for the UK. I’ve got a good life, a successful life, and while I’ve had significant unfortunate events in it, I’ve been very fortunate overall. I’m aware that I have a lot to be happy about and no current hardships whatsoever.
Back to the self-pity now.
I spent a decent whack of a recent Wednesday moping around the house, weeping. It would come in waves, usually preceded by a thought of “I’m so sick of feeling depressed a lot of the time”. That’s sort of sad, where the minor inconveniences of a regular day trigger crying. A coffee machine with an empty water tank really is the end of the world, okay?
Periods of depression like that come and go, for me. They are unpleasant, but a good sleep and some exercise usually help them subside. This other feeling I’m discussing, this stunted one, it’s been with me for a long time now, and I’m tired of it. I’m just not sure what to do with it.
I recently discussed some of this with a friend, and they asked if they think little me would be happy for big me. I said they probably will, but not because I’m doing what they wanted, but more that the things they worried over didn’t come to pass. Little me and big me have worrying in common.
(Thank you to that friend, they were very kind)
I think that’s part of what leads to this feeling of being stunted. I worry that something won’t be how I imagined it, or that something will go wrong and that will have dire consequences, or that it will mean that I’ll be chastised for not doing something I was meant to be doing when I was doing something for myself. Having done plenty of CBT (cognitive behavioural therapy), I know I’m making a calamity of thinking errors, but this is a realisation that appears to be perpetually in hindsight.
These worries come to me so easily at this point that they are habitual. It’s a habit that leaves me unsatisfied and fairly apathetic. Why bother with anything right?
Well, one reason to bother is that it would be nice to feel fulfilled with my life. I’d like to feel a bit of excitement for what I’m going to do with my day. One way could be to lean really heavily into the minimalism, meditate more and see the value in what is – adjust my scale if you will. But my scale is already fairly well set. What I’m after isn’t some obscene level of success or wealth; it’s just to turn a few more of my desires into reality.
They are very attainable things. The non-exhaustive list includes: running long distances, bagging more Munros, exploring macro photography, writing blogs to help destigmatise men’s mental health, doing a little more woodwork, camping more, growing vegetables, and bike packing again.
Sure, some require hard work and dedication, but they aren’t exactly groundbreaking, not externally anyway.
Breaking bad habits also takes hard work, and a habit like stunting oneself requires action. Action to evidence that what one can imagine can indeed become reality. Start small and get bigger.
I intentionally put in “writing blogs to help destigmatise men’s mental health” in that list so I could get an immediate win by publishing this blog. Perhaps that’s cheating, but I’m taking it.
In a week, I’m walking the West Highland Way with my dog, Kodi. I’m mostly prepared for it, but I’m letting the worries help me prepare rather than use them as an excuse to cancel it. I’ve told enough people about it now, though, that the shame for cancelling eclipses the worries of what probably won’t go wrong.
I’m looking forward to it.
Give Me coffee and pizza 