On the eve of the New Year, I sat on top of a mountain overlooking my city, witnessing the fireworks display.
Though I felt I should have thought of something profound, that I should have expressed some sort of meaningful sentiment, that I should have reflected on the year just past in the most serious way possible, nothing came up. In previous years, I would romanticize the recent past, portraying the previous 12 moths as some kind of noble, heroic struggle of growth and achievement.
But I couldn’t. I knew there was nothing to be said, that this arbitrary change of year had little personal significance, that the change in the course of my life was to be found not in the resolutions made at the stroke of midnight, but rather the countless ‘forgotten and uneventful’ days throughout the year. As I heard the music raging around the bay below, while I gazed across the vast expanse of bright and flashing lights signalling raucous celebrations, I felt no envy or melancholy. I did not want to be down there with them. I simply wished to retreat to bed, and rest in preparation for a day that would be spent in a way practically indistinguishable from hundreds to come.
One day, I might return to this city, to these lights, this music, this mountain; one day I might return to join the others down in the bay.
I might join the others in their joyous, inebriated rapture, partying the night away with those close to me. I would do it not because I was supposed to, not because I feared being considered ‘boring’ or ‘square’ for abstaining, but because the hard tasks that were important to me had been finished, that I’d paid my dues, and that I could finally lose myself in a night of drunken mirth without feeling weak or inadequate, because I earned it.
Or I might not. Perhaps I’d be so happy with where I was, with what I’d accomplished, that I’d be content falling asleep in my own bed with my earphones drowning out the music outside with the sounds of Bach’s Cello Suites.
Only time will tell.
Earlier in the week, I called up the girl I met on OkCupid via Skype after we’d been texting for a day or two.
It was exactly what I’d expected: compatibility right off the bat. She’s everything I though she’d be. Her attractive photos were thankfully not the result of some freak photogenic accident. The intelligence and wit present in her textual correspondence was alive and well during spoken conversation. If I had met her in real life, I’d be so enamoured by her presence that I’d have one of those fuck yeah life is worth living moments that are so characteristic of meeting this small niche of female individuals who fit the mould just right.
Unfortunately, however, she literally resides on the other side of the planet, so there’s not much I can do.
On the other hand, I’m not as bothered by this fact as I used to be. In the past, I’d be glued to my screens, my infatuation compelling me to constantly refresh my inbox in anticipation of some fresh correspondence. Though I had never laid eyes on them in real life, these girls on the internet had become so idealized in my mind that I became consumed just by the thought of them. At the time, in real life, I rarely went out and met new people, so in my insulated little bubble, these virtual candidates encompassed the entirety of my romantic aspirations.
Fortunately, I managed to break out and explore the outside world just enough to realize that the wonders of reality are infinitely more preferable than the vicarious representations offered by screens and earphones.
In a way, it would make sense that I was in such a particularly good mood after I’d spoken to this girl from Boston, since I’d spent the preceding few weeks cooped up in an office doing my best to surmount mountains of academic work. I am very confident that once I return to campus during class time, being able to meet and interact with scores of new, interesting and beautiful women, that I would cease to become so rapt with virtual romantic prospects. I regard this as especially true since I’ve made substantial progressions in areas relating to interactions with the opposite sex (i.e. ‘outer’ and ‘inner game’ as the more jaded denizens of the internet refer to it).
That being said, however, I still really, really dig this girl. Though I might never meet her in person, she still serves as a comforting reminder that my difficulties with relationships are not necessarily due to a lack of social skills, but likely have something to do with the fact that I just don’t get along with most people. Fortunately, however, when I do meet those few people who are my type, shit takes off. Goddamn.
Difficulties with exercising discipline and structure continue. Of course, there is no more speculation or analysis to be made; I know exactly what needs to be done. Because of this, I plan to post the planning of each of the seven days of a given weekly update, so as to give myself some sense of responsibility and duty to draw up a daily plan to keep myself focused.