There are a million ways to fill a day. Endless choices etching the boundaries and contents of our lives. Not to overdo the philosophy on a beautiful, sunny Sunday, but Of course ultimately these are the things that make us happy and give our lives meaning.
I have a reputation — unfortunate, but honestly earned — for being dour and unsatisfied, but really, I’m in love with the world. My frustration has to do with the impossibility of doing everything I want to do (sometimes, I admit, due to my own fears and weaknesses, which is harder yet). I genuinely envy anyone who has that powerful singlemindedness, any kind of overriding passion that feels inevitable, inescapable.
Maybe it’s a “grass is greener” syndrome, and maybe not, but so it goes. I can’t inhabit anyone else’s mind, so I must be at peace with my own.
Today I’ll read a book front to back, in the sun, and drown in it. I’ll feel wrung out and inspired and powerful in a way nothing else can confer. I’ll feel a twinge of regret over the laundry and dishes and bills to be paid, but silence it with the conviction of happiness.
This is how I make the choices I never regret.