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Becoming less of a work-bot

  • Work

If you looked up the definition of sheepish, you’ll probably find my face right there. Mostly due to the fact that I have been neglecting this journaling habit, which was something I held quite proudly of for last year.

2021: never missing a week!

2022: does ‘a week’ mean anything, actually? what is this archaic concept of time we hold ourselves to? why have we shackled ourselves—

Etc, etc.

This entire second half of the year has been a test that I have been consistently failing, I think. I find myself buried with work, and burying myself with more of it. My free thoughts are fleeting, consumed by the things for work I’m wasting time not doing right now and the things I should be doing, but I don’t have the mind space to sit down for them right now. It’s pretty dire, and in no way strategic.

Or any good for my mental health, that I know for sure.

I talk about putting guard rails a lot, but I also kick them down on my own volition. There are things I know I need to be better at:

Better at saying no.

Better at managing my expectations.

Better at putting myself first.

Which, yikes, sounds kind of like a humble brag, no?

the passage of time

  • Life

Time almost feels a little meaningless right now.

It has been—

—more than two years since the pandemic started.

—28 years since my first fully-formed memory (of my father waking me up in a cab)

—2 days since I zoned out and dissociated while I was taking the train, that I don’t remember when and how I got through the motion of tapping when when I got out of the station, until I was halfway on my bus ride

—24 days since I last wrote an entry

—4 months, roughly, since my official diagnosis of what the fuck’s up with my back

—2 years and 10 months since the last time I was out of the country

—2 weeks since I got my new passport

—Many, many months since I’ve focused on reading

Anyway. Work has ramped up to be completely wild, yet again. I wistfully read articles about people quietly quitting, knowing I’m the opposite of that.

Life goes.

On spending money and being frugal

I’m a pretty frugal person.

I don’t think I’m cheap (though maybe some people might think otherwise?) but there are some things that I know I don’t want to spend money than necessary on. It’s not about depriving myself, or getting the last cent shaved off, or trying to be a bargain hunter.

(Here’s an interlude to acknowledge that I’m definitely speaking from a place of privilege, to be even able to have choices to be frugal. It’s been a long, long time since I’ve had that kind of financial anxiety that only living paycheck to paycheck can gather, and now I can spend money without worrying too much.)

There are a few reasons why my spending habits are this way:

  1. I like being intentional with what I’m spending my money on, since there are other things I would rather spend my money on
  2. Having options with my money — bulking up my emergency savings, putting aside money for bigger ticket purchases like a new device or a vacation, or even just taking advantage of a bear market — brings me a sense of security
  3. I have a percentage in mind when it comes to my savings rate (and yes, this comes into the whole Financial Independence (and maybe Retire Early) thing, but the jury is still out on the latter)

And yet, in the past month, I found myself with a huge money decision to make: whether or not to sign up with a personal trainer so that I can really dial my fitness levels in. This is on top of the physiotherapy sessions I go to, because of my back betraying my body in general.

It’s not an insignificant sum of money: personal training would take up a huge percentage of my monthly expenses, and would set me back a bit of my target “retirement” age. It’s also a pretty huge cost upfront.

I’m doing it, though. As I’ve so rapidly found in the past couple of years, my health is worth more than the money I can afford to throw at it.

Believe me, it took a couple of days for me to come to this decision and reframe my position on it.

My initial thoughts: no way, I can just go to my cheap gym on my own, this is way too much, this is going to affect my spending by a whole lot.

Eventually, the combination of knowing exactly what my body fat percentage is right now (hint: way, way worse than I had always estimated) as well as wanting a professional to spot my form and fixing it where it’s hurting me won out.

Now, excuse me while I buy some gym shoes, because my Metcon 5s are literally breaking apart at the seams.

points of view

(Inspired by Brianna Wiest’s 101 Essays That Will Change The Way You Think)

  1. You’re still functional — physically, at least. You can walk and you can sit, and you can shrug off the pain when it gets a little too much.
  2. You hold on to your values, even when it’s easier to just go with the path of least resistance. You can be proud of who you are.
  3. Work is tough, and some days it’s annoying, but so many people would love to be doing what you do.
  4. You earn enough to live comfortably, to go where you want and eat what you desire; enough to live on your own terms.
  5. You’re allowed to think and ponder about what living on your own terms mean, and know that even though life isn’t ideal or where you’d thought it would be, it’s still a journey to get to where you envision it to be.
  6. You have the weekend to decompress, even if decompressing means losing track of time as you doom-scroll through Reddit.
  7. You just spent a good hour preparing for your lunches in the week ahead, and that is going to help with keeping track of actually eating lunch, which is something that has been a miss for so much of the last two years.
  8. You have comfort shows and movies that you can dive back into; an embrace into a familiarity that makes your brain feel happy.
  9. You have amazing friends. Quality > quantity, especially in this case.
  10. You think about all the different ways to get better, and to be better. You might fail and stumble along the way, but you’re still trying. You’re figuring it out. You’re still here.