2 min read

Closing up shop

There's a pattern I notice of wanting to close up shop with respect to change. Often when I change I want to hang it up and say, okay, that's it, nailed it, we're done here, woohoo, time to go home. Ha, ha. Thank god I am never going to have to do that again. The decision could be perfectly sensible, but there is something else there besides the decision.

I've been doing the same exercise routine for probably a year now. After work I go do four sets of six corner reverse push-ups in my bathroom, then I do four sets of inclined push-ups on my dresser. I got it from Reddit, somewhere. There was more to the plan, a schedule to follow. This schedule comes from I think day 4 or 6 of 30.

It's not the worst to have stopped there. I had a "good reason," in the sense that I could see no straightforward way to continue the plan at the time. Going further required equipment I didn't and don't have. I could get it, but then I have nowhere reasonable to set it up. And continuing on seems better than dropping the plan entirely. It's got to be better than nothing. It all somewhat makes sense.

In the speaking class I'm taking I practiced bringing energy into speaking. That week I was able to bring a lot more energy into speaking than I normally would. The coaches pushed me and I pushed myself. It took practice. I don't bring quite that much energy outside of that practice, but the option is there.

I don't find myself reaching for it now. As the coaches said, it's not something you have to bring into every context. It's true enough. Still, reflecting on it, there's a feeling of drawing that line in the sand once again and saying: This far and no further.

In college I practiced talking to people. I did it more than I wanted to. I showed up to events I didn't want to go to. Like everyone else I was looking for a friend group. I pushed myself a little.

Then I found my friend group. I haven't pushed myself much in that direction for a while.

There's a feeling of: Oh god, great, done with that, now I can get back to my life. There's a desire to stop and rest.

Except, that seems wrong. In reflection – that feeling of relief feels precarious, conditional. It's predicated on not needing to change further. It contains within it its own anxiety: The feeling that, oh god, what if I have to do this again? These two orientations recreate each other. There's no resting in the relief of completing change.

I wonder what it might look like to rest in motion.