So long 2018

Soon after I moved in to my current apartment about eighteen months ago, I scribbled a note and stuck it on a wall:

"It's all in your head."

It was supposed to serve as a reminder to not be affected by occasional bouts of feeling dispirited. I am not sure how much it helped me. But it sure invited some puzzled looks from people I hosted at my place. That is the only personal thing that decorates my room.

--x--x--

For a large part of my life, I found recourse in two things: running and writing. At some of my lowest points in life, I found redemption in moments of breathlessness after an intense run. I have written (quite a bit) about it. There is something soothing about expressing in words an impersonal yet intimate emotion that running brought me.

Well, I don't run that much now. And I don't write anymore. I think I resorted to writing in moments of loneliness. It slightly scares me as I go through some of the old posts here. In these posts, there always lingers a disconnect with people which I never thought I would be able to get rid of. This is what I wrote just a few years ago:

"I notice when people are down or sad or scared, they think of other people. They ring someone up. They talk. When I am down or sad or scared, I think of things to do. I go running. I make myself so tired that I lose the ability to think." (ref: Fidding with Endorphin Levels)

....

"People thought about other people. People thought about things. I just thought about things in my life."

I am (pleasantly) surprised and glad how I have been able to intersect my lives with those of others.

--x--x--

I look around at the walls in my room. Except for the ominous note mentioned above, there is no trace of anything else personal. People decorate their rooms to cherish good memories. I have always tried not to get haunted by my memories.

"My not-so-recent history is largely devoid of interactive elements. There lies no mention of social validation, memorable moments, intimate confessions, pep talks or adolescent curiosity. All I remember is the intensity of things. The last thing I wanted to think about was myself." (ref: Of Winters and Mediocrity)

Ever since I wrote these thoughts down years ago, things have changed positively. 

I have always tried to do everything I did to the extreme. I feel grateful for where this habit landed me today.

I feel grateful that running is no more a purgation of emotions but a celebration of life.

I feel super grateful for some beautiful people who entered into my life. I thank them for the memories which I can cherish and not try to forget.

Wherever I move next, I will probably have sweeter things to stick around on the walls than this: