Friday, July 15, 2011
The sun'll come out tomorrow
I was having an awfully shit time at work recently. After more than three years doing the same job I was bored and my motivation was at an all-time low. I mentioned this to my boss (in slightly more delicate terms than I've used above) and he suggested something very simple and, in hindsight, very obvious.
"Book some holidays," he said. "You need something to look forward to."
He was right and not just about work. I know the healthy thing is supposed to be to live in the moment and neither linger in the past or obsess about the future. But the problem with this theory, for me at least, is that without anticipation I'd go mad.
I refer you to the late great Alfred Hitchcock (and as an aside: MAN does Rear Window still hold up as amazing movie), who said: "There is no terror in a bang, only in the anticipation of it."
Somehow everything is better tomorrow: In Tomorrowland I'll somehow be more successful, smarter, prettier and come into a large sum of money donated by a dead rich relative I never knew I had. That cardigan I ordered from ASOS will arrive and be awesome, that party next month will be better than all the other parties I've ever been to.
It's not really about cardigans, obviously, but if I didn't think I had something to look forward to I wouldn't be able to get out of bed in the morning.
The downside is that sometimes this kind of attitude translates into a complete failure to enjoy the good times when they arrive. The cardigan/party/holiday comes and I'm already anticipating the cardigan unravelling, the next day hangover or my return to work. Or I'll be in the middle of my Good Time, whatever it is, and start to wonder: am I having enough fun? Is this as good as I thought it'd be? What will I do next?
Tomorrow I fly out to Broome for the week for a much-anticipated family holiday: my first in years and years. But what should I be happy about? The fact that I'm sitting on my couch right now, sipping a tasty Rose and watching the Tour de France with narry a care in the world? Or should I be happy because I'm already anticipating the plane touching down in Broome tomorrow, wondering what my room will look like and if the Staircase to the Moon is really that awesome?
These are questions to which I have no answer. But I do know this: I am not going to think about bad it's going to feel when it's over. I am not going to think about how bad it's going to feel when it's over. I'm not going to... well, I think you get the idea.