Earlier today I bumped into somebody I hadn’t seen for a very long time. I might have exchanged a word or two with her a couple of years ago, but I haven’t sat down in a room with her in over a decade. So I asked how she is, of course, and what she’s been up to.
She replied with a shrug, ‘Housework.’
Fortunately, my dynamic three year old was pulling me away to see some alpacas by that point, so I didn’t have a chance to react or reply. ‘Looks like I’ve got to go!’ I laughed instead. If I’d had to reply, I might have accidentally offended.
Housework. Really? Twelve years or more, and all you can tell me – certainly the first thing to come to your mind – is that you’ve done housework? I hope your house is fucking sparkling!
Now, I don’t mean to say anything against the lady herself. She is a nice person, and she raised a good friend of mine.
But I simply cannot understand that sort of stagnation. I don’t understand how somebody would not even want or try to do something, to change something, to grow or learn or something. I am surrounded – I have surrounded myself – with the sorts of people who are always doing things and trying things. To me, the urge to be an active participant in life is a natural, normal thing. The weird, unnatural thing is to let life pass you by, ticking along, waiting to die. I can’t comprehend how that sort of existence could hold any lasting satisfaction. But most of all, I’m afraid I find that sort of person… well, I won’t beat around the bush: boring.
Look at yourself and your friends. Consider what you’ve all done in the last ten years. I’m pretty confident in all of my readers: you should be able to come up with at least one or two pretty big milestones or achievements, plus a multitude of smaller changes and efforts. If you were asked what you’d done in the last decade, what would be the first thing to come to your mind?
Please tell me it’s more interesting than housework!