Sometimes I'm glad the weekend feels like it got away from me. There are too many decisions to be made about how to spend my time that almost having the 9-to-5 works to calm my erratic brain. I know how bad that sounds. Or maybe it just sounds bad to me. I don't like the idea of being comforted by putting in some hours but I know there are other decisions to be made. There are always decisions to be made and I struggle with it. I suppose I struggle because I delay them. I plan. I obsess to a point.
I think the problem boils down to the fact that there is no right answer. There is no final exam. Or at least as far as I know. And so the idea of finding the perfect activity to make the most of right now doesn't make any sense. What's the most present-fulfilling activity right now? It's subjective, sure, but does it mean we all have ideal lives to live? Or is it more levels of potential?
I think this was particularly compounded after saying a goodbye of sorts to Maxine for the next few months. I was burnt out from a meet-up with some strangers earlier in the day that by the time I was there for Maxine's party, I couldn't find it in myself to make conversation above the loud music and drunk bystanders. I think I left around 10pm with a quick goodbye and some terrible staged photos Maxine and I tried to take.
What really threw me off too was this guy, John. He arrived a bit later than the rest of the crew assembled for some dinner beforehand, but when I started asking Drew, Maxine's boyfriend and a personal trainer himself, about some sciatic pain I was experiencing, Drew pointed to John. "He would know more than me." So I asked John what he thought I could do preemptively for the nerve pain. He asked me what I'm doing. "Weight lifting? Squats?" "Yeah." "Ok, stop that." Just "stop that"!? And Maxine and Drew nodded on like they heard John provide this prescription a million times before. Something about the gluts being the center of all muscles. Honestly, I didn't know how to question it and he didn't provide much else past that, so I was left dumbfounded with this philosophy of never weight-training. Just sprinting and eating healthy. I know it's not a scientific fact to "believe in," but the arrogance and certainty of John's answer bothered me. And mostly because I never even thought to question the entire concept of weight-lifting. I always thought it made sense to strain and train your muscles. And on the other hand I've been reading some interesting new concepts lately that have forced me to ask questions about the right way to lift those weights - like resting every four minutes between a set, which, by the way, feels like an eternity.
And so I left the bar, half disappointed that I had no energy to hang and half worried I've been going about it wrong all along.
It circles back to the anxiety of decision-making. The fear boiled up that I had been following the wrong path of working out for the past eight weeks when I've been feeling proud for just doing it. You know, Nike.
And now I feel like I need to do more research. Always more research. Research and planning. Instead of doing and going.
But this is my existential funk - decisions. My weekend is one big fight to make up my damn mind. And luckily some good things come out of it, and I can thank my lucky stars I'm near a great city and I can make friends and drink clean water and everything else. But sometimes when it boils down to the core question of this whole experiment, I'm left wondering and it trips me up.
Tomorrow is Monday and another chance to run this experiment the best way I possibly can. It starts somehow.