I’ve been going to the gym more frequently and I can start to see my body changing, the gathering of muscles where there were none before, the shaping of the biceps, thighs, the small muscles sharpening on the calves. But if I decide that my body needs a break— or more likely, I’m tired, or I’m depressed, or there are four zoom meetings in a day, then a meet you here (google maps link) at seven, happy hours, late hours with wine, with beer, the night before— then if I decide not to go to the gym, for a week or two in a row, my muscles lengthen, flatten, shrink in size. To build muscles, it requires a steady and dedicated pursuit to see a progression in their growth. I thought that progress was only a noun, a state of being, something one moves through, moves forward through specified destination, only a temporary place to live in. But progression moves infinitely, one moves through a progression infinitely. The steady crawl to the gym daily is the progression. The part where i don’t work out, where the muscles move and change, the protein shakes, the walk to the gym, all of that is progression too. It’s a never-ending momentum, a lifetime inertia.
On e-reader apps, they show you your progress at the bottom of the page; how many pages left, the percentage of the novel that you’ve finished. And at the gym, you can see the muscles, you can track how much you can lift— there’s a way to visibly see the progression. In life, in real life, there are ways to measure your progression: a promotion, a fellowship award, moving into an apartment with your partner. But there are a million measurements, a thousand achievements. There are a thousand hours of therapy, workbooks. There less carbs, less alcohol. More doctor appointments. More gym time. More time with your loved ones. More connection. More reaching out, more being daring.
And some life progression moves slowly. Even with inertia, it travels upward gradually, plateaus, moves again, gaining momentum quickly and then free fall, throwing your stomach in the air a bit. I’m thinking of an airplane at 300 miles per hour, pressing against the atmosphere, finding a way to break through the clouds. It’s difficult to feel the continual pressure of hard work. I want to be able to show that I’ve achieved a milestone in some. I’ve always been called hardworking— which is only funny because I don’t think I’m working hard enough. And there are large systematic structure in my way that specifically make it hard for me to succeed. But what do I do? What do I do? How do I evade capitalist thinking when I only have one or two ways to success?
When you are always in work-mode, in hustle mode, networking, when the passion is in overdrive, it’s easy to expect was reward. I stay awake at night, jaw clenched like a vice, coming up with ways to be a write, to afford pleasure, to make my life warm and full like everyone else’s and I haven’t found a way just yet— trying to find something to show for mu immense and all-consuming belief in my life— that’s why we love miracles.
But miracles are rare.
Sometimes, there are no rewards. And sometimes, there are rewards, less apparent ones, that buzz by quickly before we can recognize them. All those tiny wins add up, or will add up eventually, but for now, they seem too few and far in-between.
Ambition is a dirty word, unless you’re a stock broker or a businessperson. In art, ambition degrades your work, it diffuses your focus. I don’t believe that. I want more. So, I keep writing. I keep working out. I keep trying to make friends. I keep pushing myself outside of home. I imagine my life as I want it and I move towards that light— but maybe try not to want acceleration but live in the natural inertia of life’s progression.
But as the world burns, in more way than one, I want to make my life the way I want it to be. Before it’s gone.
until next time
xoxo
-travis