Aging brought boredom, a bit.
Routine, a general glum feeling, a hatred of the night.
It’s fun being me.
So I switched it up, changed the ol’ mind set, decided to try new things.
Woot! New! It’s the way to the future!
“New” led me to an art project that scared the poo out of me but has turned into a thing I kind of love.
And “New” led me to take exercise classes I would have given a hard “No” not long ago. I like the exercise; it’s the “class” part — the inclusion of other people and not just a workout video streaming through my tv — that I eschewed. Turns out: I like people! They motivate, they peer-pressure, they accidentally guilt me into staying and actually exercising. (Funny, because the tv never frowned when I turned off the videos after three minutes.)
“New” made me write…a lot…and though none of the projects are actually complete, they exist. So there’s that: a whole lot of words, sitting in a document, waiting around for me to re-visit them.
I feel a bit like sliding back into routine, though. A year or two of New, that’s enough, I thought. So I’m fighting the sliding and riding it out, writing and gliding into righting myself, upright back into New.
New is good. New is necessary.