I ran today. 2.5 miles with average pace. I listened to the Alchemist, and I enjoyed every step around the neighborhood and on the trail. Other than running, I spent a big part of my day wondering if I need rest or if I’m not working hard enough. I think both are true.
I thought I’d spend my spring break resting. After two quarter of working 20 hours a week, 12 hours running a club, and endless mornings and nights studying, after days on the train from west to east, from walking the length of New York City and Chicago, I needed to take a couple of days off and be easy on myself.
But the blueprint was dismissed in reality. In fact, by the time quarantine became official, I already signed up for some courses online, made goals, and started working on side projects, such as… this. I read and read and get anxious about what I have not read. I feel guilty every single day for what I have not done, only to realize that I’m so impatient with the insignificant changes from the day to day activity. I’m impatient to growth.
That sounds strange, for me to say such thing. Because I have always believed that I value progress above all. I value the journey more than destiny. But I have no way to measure it, so I question. Disappointed. Lose interest.
I know not a lot of people talk about their struggles online, yet everyone faces difficulties. The ups are ups because there are downs. And my downs are such – not knowing what to do or what I want to do – given a side notice of the monthly bleeding and complaining.