ChatGPT is nasty, I’m not sure who is even writing this anymore.

I find myself trapped between two opposites: when there’s nothing to do, I’m restless with boredom; when there’s too much to do, I’m overwhelmed by the weight of preparation. Either way, I end up complaining.

Take yesterday. It was a day off that, on paper, looked pretty fulfilling. I wasn’t hungover, which already made it better than some. I started the morning with breakfast with my mom – something we share every couple of weeks that always feels grounding. Later, I spent time talking with my dad about his troubles. From there, the day unfolded easily: a few games of chess, a run through the park, lunch, some football prep, even a nostalgic rewatch of All Dogs Go to Heaven. I read a little – Zig Ziglar, an Arnold biography, a business book – and rounded out the evening with BoJack Horseman and part of My Dinner with Andre.

Yet at the end of it all, I asked myself: Did I really do anything?

Workdays swing to the other extreme. They’re packed from morning until night, so full that I complain about not having any space for myself. Even when I carve out time for a workout or a show, the idea of anything extra – a Phillies game, bowling, golf – feels impossible. The days of commuting made this even worse; they drained me to the point where even leisure felt like work. In those times, I longed for empty days – the same ones I now dismiss as wasted.

Trips, too, highlight this contradiction. Traveling feels like the essence of living – what’s the point of life if not to see the world? But trips demand energy, money, and endless preparation. The planning often stretches out for weeks, sometimes months, until the whole thing feels like a looming chore. People say anticipation is half the joy. For me, anticipation is half the stress. The funny thing is, once I’m finally there, I always enjoy myself. It’s the weeks leading up to it that are annoying.

This is the thread that runs through everything: when I look forward, I complain; when I look back, I question; but in the rare moments when I’m actually present, I feel alive. The trouble is that I spend so little time living in that space.

Maybe the challenge isn’t to fill my days more or to prepare less, but to notice life while I’m in it – before it passes into memory or mutates into worry.