This year one of my resolutions was to put more thought into how I could incorporate intentionality into my daily routine. I always struggle with new years resolutions as many do. “Spend less, workout more, lose weight, gain weight, eat healthier, make time for family,” and other endless habits that eventually get tossed out of the window. “One donut won’t hurt, an extra coffee here or there, I’ll see them at Christmas,” the same useless excuses to combat the deep shame felt when you don’t stick to these strict but vague guidelines you’ve set for yourself. This has often led me to feel disappointed with myself. Over time I’ve realized the adherence to these rules was never for ME, but rather society or social norms. Leading a life for other people inevitably leaves you on the side of some road you never meant to go down.

When I started this blog, I wanted to teach myself the art of discipline. Following a rough schedule of making one blog post a month was a good start. Eventually the same excuses eroded away at my goal. “I have nothing to write about, I have no new experiences to reflect on, I have nothing to say and even if I did, who cares?” I spent time doing other things like doom scrolling on social media, playing video games, and wasting any creative energy I had doing things that didn’t fuel any fire in me to be alone with my thoughts. I justified it by telling myself I didn’t like to write or read or whatever excuse I could to deal with the nagging thoughts that I wasn’t doing anything important, I wasn’t doing enough. This is where I had to really sit with myself and ask “then what DO you like to do?” Things that had once made me happy and fulfilled were now trinkets sitting on some long forgotten shelf in the corner of my mind, collecting dust. Replaced by quick dopamine, the next trend, or some controversy on TikTok that I just HAD to know about.

I tried to make a list of things I knew deep down that I enjoyed. Photography, capturing moments unique to my eye. Traveling, experiencing lives of people I didn’t know, learning new languages, learning new ways to live. Reading, losing myself in a novel, seeing myself reflected on the pages. Music, creating melodies in my head, recreating riffs of my favorite songs on an electric guitar I built to pass the time in remote Alaska. Writing, finding new ways to try and explain my point of view, my experience, pain and pleasures. Getting outside, moving my body, the pride found when my heart and mind work together to accomplish something physical. These are all healthy ways to attain dopamine that I know to work for me. Despite knowing this to be true, seeing this list made me feel overwhelmed, as if there was so much for me to do in order to feel like a person. Tasks that should be fun added to the mental toll. Bed rotting, watching the sun rise and fall from the same lump of covers, hiding from the world became commonplace.

Doing this leaves no room for natural happy chemicals to be produced, starting a dangerous cycle of dopamine chasing to reach a baseline mental state strong enough to even get out of bed. I tried to start small, quick hikes into the muskeg turned into long drawn out walks sitting on the beaches watching seals hunt. Eventually I’d brought my journal out and sit on the rocks for hours waiting for something to happen so I could write about it. Bolstering my passion for writing, I’d create little stories and skits about an Alaskan fisherman, a pod of whales, or the snow sitting on the trees waiting to melt. They seemed innocuous but overtime my joy of writing returned again and I found a way to release all of the energy swirling around in me.

Reading became a collection of voices to use in my own writing, as often I found authors explaining something I’d been feeling my whole life but never had the words to describe. Reading became a source of inspiration, with authors like Sylvia Plath articulating the existential questions that had long haunted me. Her fig tree analogy struck a chord, encapsulating the agony of indecision and the fear of missed opportunities.

“I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in the story. From the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked. One fig was a husband and a happy home and children, and another fig was a famous poet and another fig was a brilliant professor, and another fig was Ee Gee, the amazing editor, and another fig was Europe and Africa and South America, and another fig was Constantin and Socrates and Attila and a pack of other lovers with queer names and offbeat professions, and another fig was an Olympic lady crew champion, and beyond and above these figs were many more figs I couldn’t quite make out. I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn’t make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet.”

― Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar

This indecision becomes crippling after a while. Frozen and unchanging, we make no efforts to start moving again, afraid of the jarring, startling feeling of getting up and trying again. Indeed, the paralysis of indecision can be paralyzing, trapping us in a state of inertia. Yet, the alternative – knowing our desires but lacking the courage to pursue them – is even more terrifying. It’s a poignant reminder that life’s choices, like the figs on Plath’s tree, demand action, lest they wither and fall.

Acknowledging our true desires and aligning our lives with them requires immense honesty and bravery. It demands the courage to confront the status quo and the discipline to forge a new path. Yet, the prospect of change often looms as a daunting obstacle, bogging us down, too tired to swim to fairer shores. The comfort of familiarity, even if unsatisfying, can overshadow the pursuit of something greater. Fear of the unknown whispers doubts into our ears, tempting us to remain stagnant rather than venture into uncharted territory. It’s a weariness that settles deep within, dampening the spark of ambition and numbing the desire for improvement.

But beneath this fatigue lies a glimmer of hope, a quiet resilience waiting to be awakened. It’s the realization that staying in place, rooted in fear, is a far heavier burden than the effort required to move forward. With each small step towards change, we reclaim a piece of our agency and rediscover the strength within us.

It’s a journey fueled by courage, sustained by discipline, and illuminated by the promise of a brighter tomorrow.

Choosing comfort over growth is tempting, like cocooning oneself in a blanket, lost in your phone and endless distractions. Yet, life demands more; discipline is the path less traveled. They say habits and mental training can reshape our neural pathways over time. I aspire to chart a course to inner contentment within my own mind, a map to happiness.

The realization of motivation versus obligation dawned on me this new year. Am I truly motivated to read, write, or engage in creative pursuits? Or do I merely feel obligated because I recognize their benefits? Confronting this internal conflict was essential for fostering discipline. A pivotal shift occurred during a conversation with a new friend. They posed questions seldom asked: “What ignites my passion? What brings genuine happiness, and why?” Reflecting on their words, I concluded that breaking free from the dichotomy of motivation versus obligation is key to embracing life’s joys.

To sum it up, this year I am choosing to spend my time being honest with myself about what makes me happy and continuing to pursue those things. Complacency will be an old friend looked back on with a fondness and understanding.

Dear Reader, Miigwech. Thank you for following along with me.