Since arriving in Melbourne nearly a year ago, my mind has been incessantly preoccupied with my career, leaving little space for personal contemplation or even life admin. I was on autopilot, transitioning from one job to the next, scarcely pausing to catch my breath or check in with myself.
The intangible baggage I brought along was tucked away in a hidden corner of my mind. But like an economy-sized suitcase, it was stuffed with too much for too long.
I yearned for a pause, a moment of quiet reflection, akin to Thoreau’s Walden experience. While I didn’t have the luxury of two years or a tranquil pond by which to reflect, I did have two weeks, Melbourne’s public transport, and a generous stash of oat bars.
My mission was clear: disconnect from the external noise - friends, acquaintances, and digital signals, and reconnect with my inner self. I sought to transform my daily routine from a cacophony of tasks and deadlines into a harmonious journey of self-reflection and mindfulness.
This is what I had planned:
Close my laptop lid and keep it shut.
Deactivate or delete all social media accounts.
Book a flight or a train ride out of Melbourne.
Find a number of accessible hiking or trekking spots.
Devour a book a day.
Pen down short stories and poetry.
Reach a grand epiphany.
But as it often happens, the best intentions end simply as intentions. What unfolded instead was a mix of the unexpected and the long-overdue:
I binge-watched the Underworld Franchise. The first two movies were a blast. The others less so.
I visited a GP, taking a significant step by starting anti-depressants again.
I started watching The Bear (and stopped because I was already depressed enough).
I started seeing a therapist again and opening some old wounds.
I listened to audiobooks on the Halo franchise (before Spotify told me I needed to purchase more minutes).
I passed my online learners exam, inching closer to a driver’s license.
I watched the ducks in the Royal Botanic Gardens. I named one of them Lucy (I don’t know which one).
I embraced meditation again.
I started 3 books. They now sit in a butterfly position beside and on my bed.
I started journalling again.
For every moment that could be labeled unproductive or meaningless, I found myself tackling something I had been postponing for months.
With my mental health in decline, I knew it was time to revisit the conversation of medicine and therapy. I wanted to escape the city and being beholden to another for transport was not always an option. But you don’t immediately buy a car. You don’t immediately find the cure. You don’t immediately reconcile the past. Each requires a series of tasks, some as menial as a booking but others as involved as reading a hundred-and-fifty-page document and sitting a test.
There’s an epiphany here but I don’t think it’s just one. The ME that made these plans didn’t exist in those two weeks and the ME that came out at its conclusion is glad that he once did.
Those grandiose plans, although not fully realized, gave way to achievements that were small, yet meaningful in their own right.
Or perhaps, the real catalyst was simply stripping away the eight hours of work and the additional four hours spent ruminating about work.
Either way, I accomplished much. Not everything on my list, but much.
Much is enough.