But what does that mean, living life to the fullest? Certainly, it means different things to different people. To Ilana, it means working in public service, biking from Canada to Mexico or Montréal to Boston, getting up early to go rowing on the Mystic River, leading a vigourous life outdoors. To hyounpark it might mean working a 9 to 5 job and leaving at the appointed hour, regardless of whether the work is done, and taking advantage of all the city has to offer; or driving down to Maryland on a whim to catch an Orioles game at his favorite ballpark or attend a cattlecall audition for reality t.v. For someone like scholargipsy or surrealestate it might mean playing with your comfort boundaries, pushing yourself to explore new experiences, even if it might mean pain or distancing yourself from the familiar or beloved.
So, what would living life to the fullest mean for me? I get inklings of it, in poetry, literature, cheeseball movies.... I have the exhortations of different philosophies of life -- some Christian, some not -- whispering potential courses of action to me. But I don't really know. And fear -- a subject I have touched on before -- seems to hold me back. I've reached a point in my life where I've become afraid of making a real commitment -- and can one live life to the fullest without committing fully to something?
So I made a decision -- more of a resolution, really -- this morning. This wasn't something that involved a lot of thought on my part. I just felt those same familiar pangs inside of me, the desire to be something better than I am, to fulfill myself in some way, to move on with my life and get closer to being whatever the hell it is I am supposed to be. And then I just said, "Fuck it!" Just let it out -- "Fuck it!" Throw caution to the wind. Because the cautious life is not the fully-lived life. And if I want to experience the highs that I seek, if I want to find fulfillment and live my life to the fullest, I have to be willing to throw it all away, to lose everything. I have been content, but I have not been happy. I may never be happy to any degree of permanence, but if I don't put my fears aside, take that step into the unknown, I will never be anything but content. Content is not good enough.
So, enough talk. Enough complaining that I don't like my job, that I despise Boston. I'm leaving. Don't know where to, but I know it won't be here. And it won't be anyplace too familiar, so San Diego is out. London? If David Pollard will take me on as a pupil, yes. If not? Maybe Maryland, for at least there I'd be close to Dan and Keya, and briganski would surely join us eventually. Maybe North Carolina, since it has held some appeal for me for a while. If I could stand to be away from the ocean for any length of time, I'd consider Iowa. Maybe, if I really want to be bold, I could follow scholargipsy's example and move outside of the U.S. to someplace where I don't know the language or culture and know nobody. And when? By March, at the latest. Preferably January or February. All I know for certain is that I am going to move on. Finally.