Alone on a Saturday Night

I am the most important person I will ever know.

Nearly all of my choices, all of my decisions, are about me. If there is something I don’t want to do, I don’t do it.

I was asked to go out tonight with some friends. I love my friends. I need my friends. I want to know about their lives; their hopes and their dreams. I need them to listen to me. I need their feedback. I need their care. They don’t judge me, or take me for granted. They act like my opinion matters, and sometimes, they even want advice.

That doesn’t mean I have to hang out with them.

I could have gone out. I could have stood and pretended to enjoy myself; uninterested in the monotony of our lives, but I didn’t. I chose to sit here and write. 
Somehow, I feel like this is more important than spending time with people I love.

Some of my friends have asked me what I have been up to, where I’ve been…

I’ve been doing this. Being a recluse. Because, frankly, I am more important than you.

It feels wrong to say it, but I don’t believe any of us can deny that truth. We are the most important person we will ever know; our life depends on it.

Think about all the people you know…are they thinking about you? Nah. They’re living their life.

The fact is, everyone leaves. One way or another, one of us is going. I don’t want to sound pessimistic, but the fact remains: I am the most important person I will ever know.

Every choice I make creates a ripple effect in the lives of those I meet. If I’m angry, sad, or pissy. If I’m depressed, anxious, or fearful…those emotions will rub off on the people I’m around. Or, I will just be sad, pissy, or anxious and I’ll have a terrible time. I’ll make other people awkward, I’m sure of it.

If I’m not making progress towards developing something I care about, life is shit. I get depressed. I don’t want to leave my house, or be around other people. All I want to do is sit around and look at wikipedia entries and think about something to write about.

But I rarely retain shit.

I’ve watched hundreds of documentaries about space and physics. I’ve read thousands of articles on philosophy, theology, and artistry, but still, every time I try to write about something I’ve learned, I can’t seem to draw the facts.

I can only really write about myself.

Practically everything I own was given to me. My car, my clothes, my furniture. From the shoes I’m wearing (a gift from a friend) to the Old Navy shirt over my chest (thanks Maw).

Almost everything except this laptop. It’s the only thing I’ve ever purchased thats cost over 1000 dollars.

I am a 28 year old bachelor who lives in a house with his best friend since the third grade. I’ve never been married and I don’t have any kids. Not to say I don’t want them, but I can pretty much guarantee that if they were to show up, right now in this moment, I would be more important than them. Because, fuck those kids. They don’t actually exist.

But y’know what does exist? Me.

And that means, I have to do things to help myself. Like sitting here, alone, on a Saturday night.

There are a lot of things I want to accomplish, and sometimes, I don’t want to do the work. I don’t “feel” like showing up. Thats when I absolutely have to show up. Because no one else is going to work on the things that matter to me, or move me closer to a future I want to live in.

I force myself to show up because the future is more important than momentary laziness, procrastination, or mental masterbation. And, for the future of my imaginary kids who don’t exist yet, how can I ever tell them that they can go after their dreams, if I never did?

For real. Everything I have just written could have been lost to a Facebook scroll fest. Literally. I almost sat on my porch, loaded up Facebook, lit 10 cigarettes, and started scrolling. Because fuck writing and shit. Nobody cares what I have to say, and I don’t want to try. Its tough to try. It sucks to be vulnerable and its difficult to tell the truth when you know that you’re always wrong.

Yes. I think I’m wrong.

I may be the most important person I’ll ever know, but that doesn’t mean I’m right.

I just want to feel free.

So, I do things that I don’t want to do sometimes to achieve that freedom.

Like, going to work for 8 hours when I’d rather be writing. Or going for a run even when I’m tired. Or waking up early to develop an APP when I’d rather spend those 2 hours before work sitting on my porch contemplating the nature of reality.

In my head, I create a bunch of dreamscape scenarios; a totally imaginary life I want to live.

If I didn’t believe in those dreams, I wouldn’t be sitting here right now.

If I didn’t believe I was the most important person I knew, I would never develop the courage to share, or the mindset to work when I’d rather contemplate universal space dynamics.

I would never take a daily step towards realizing something better for myself.

I would never sacrifice instant pleasure for the promise of something that isn’t guaranteed.

I wouldn’t be able to sit here, alone on a Saturday night, and write.

7 thoughts on “Alone on a Saturday Night

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