“You cannot be, and you shouldn’t be, settled on settling.”
I feel settled at work as it is, and it isn’t a “good settled”. I think… I feel I am so comfortable and relaxed that I border complacency. I dislike this kind of contentment.
Although I initially sensed peace within, it appears to have been [replaced by] laziness. There is a faint but coercing voice telling me that everything is absolutely perfect and nothing requires change or improvement.
“Sit still,” the voice whispers to me. I start to shiver. And it’s a warm day.
Lethargy isn’t for me. I despise it. It’s like being possessed. At least, what I get isn’t the medical condition.
It isn’t so terrible at work. When lethargy strikes, I have a reason to get it out of my system. I am forced to shake it off. I get paid to perform and deliver. My work ethics prevent me from giving in to my current lethargic tendency.
There is another side to lethargy when it visits me in my personal life: it invites a tremendous amount of introspection and contemplation. I am well aware of what follows. I am familiar with my predilections. We are best friends.
I cannot blame the season as it also happens in summer. Right now, winter is on it’s way out. Even in the midst of a heatwave that refuses to leave, suffering from heat, my heart would still wallow in winter. And, my head isn’t far off from my heart.
I find myself on that perilous ground I know too well: entrance to the world of productivity, creativity-wise, yay! But, that happens to be my depressive state of being.
(For me, my history of depression is worse than my occasional lethargic episodes. I was diagnosed with MDD a couple of years ago, and about 20 years ago, although it was called Clinical Depression then. My psychologist, however, thought that I may have been misdiagnosed because my symptoms leaned towards Bipolar Disorder 2 more. I’ve been pretty fine since last year though.)
I am fully cognizant of what is happening. I can almost touch it. I see it, albeit in my head, walking towards the beacon, or the door to a dark room.
Do I want to stop it? Can I stop? Should I stop it?
Often, I really don’t have much control. I let it be.
Fortunately, I had trained myself to bury myself in my work during this period. Years ago, when my personal life fell apart, work had been my refuge. Work was where I have control. Work provided the illusion that everything was perfect.
But, what if work weren’t the safe haven it’s meant to be?
Could home be that place where I could wait it out until the silent storm inside my head is over?
At 47 years of age, you’d think I should have mastered the art of living. I should know when to expect and how to handle that curve ball life throws.
Life never ceases to amaze.
But then again, life would be boring, right?
May your life be filled with sunshine!
Much love and hugs,