It’s late. I don’t normally stay up past the point when my body tells me it’s time to sleep, but tomorrow I won’t get the chance to write. I’m not sure how sad I should be about that. On one hand I’m extremely lucky and live a life far removed from the brutality of empire (for now). On the other hand, I don’t have much free time, and in the free time I have I’m usually exhausted.
Last week I wrote about sleep and freedom. Right now I feel like I might be missing out on both. But is hurrying the answer?
Someone in my Saturday writing workshop asked me what I get out of it, or why I organized it in the first place. My answer was that time is all we have, and I’d like to use my time for fun things I find possibly productive, considering that 200 species a day go extinct thanks to human activities.
Communication is one thing we severely lack. Considering my view that communities of support will be vital to the survival of life on Earth as resources dwindle and ecosystems crash, I’m going to devote some of my time to writing. Seeking enjoyment is not a detour nor an escape from the pursuit of this goal.
Pretty much every day I think about looking back on my life from some future vantage, and worry that I’ll consider some time to be wasted on frivolous or even harmful things. How will I score myself, looking back? I walk the line between Ecclesiastes and a desperation to prepare for upcoming hurdles–either personal or ecological (or should there be a difference?). I wonder if anyone else feels this way.