Dangerously Comfortable

I’m very comfortable and enjoy the life I have.

It’s too comfortable. It’s comfortable to the point that I don’t think I have goals anymore. Goals are not something I ever had, but I always had goals like graduating high school, college, full time job, etc. You know, like stuff that’s already implied. What’s next though?

Don’t get me wrong, I still have stuff that I want to do, you know? Maybe OWN a house, have a wife, and get a job I’m satisfied. These items are not on a time limit, nor expiration date, but other than that, what’s next? Do I have kids to give my life some structure? At 25 should I even worry about what’s next, or just live in the moment and enjoy the limited youth?

It’s too many questions and I’m too comfortable to want an answer to them. There are personal development goals I still have. Maybe those are the ones that are really important. What good is it to have the material goals developed if I’m a shitty person?

Reading what I just wrote, it sounds very silly to worry about this. Some folks don’t ever accomplish what they need to, yet they are happy. I guess it’s just a reminder to myself that we are all different and reach happiness in separate, happy paths.

It sounds like the best approach is just being mindful, and staying in a positive direction. I’m not really a believer of a higher power, or some afterlife, so in pessimistic views, there’s nothing else to look forward to. This life is all I have. Why worry about things that are not in your control, and you can’t exactly predict every possible scenario of how you want your life to be. Well, actually, not having any goals makes life a little better. Who knows?

“Yeah, Give Me That Sweet Geometric Tree”

Yesterday was my first session

It hurt.

A lot.

My fear seeped in when looking at the design that was given to me based on my description. I’m thinking “Do I like it? I think I hate it”.

Although, I also knew that I could have a killer design, but the trepidation would make me question it again. It didn’t matter if the Mona Lisa was on my back.

I was pretty numb from the beginning. That is, I was almost in a trance as soon as I walked in. The sweaty palms went away when I got onto the table. No more fear, just numbness that made me almost catatonic. Of course, it was nervousness that paralyzed me and made me stiff as a board.

My tattoo artist definitely doesn’t have the customer service skills you would see at a Kinko’s, or something like that, but I’m sure he has seen dudes like me a million times in the past. These artists are also numb to people’s pain as well, it seems like.  There was no hesitation to start stabbing me. It was a silent interaction until the pain was too unbearable for me not to moan in pain once in a while.

A good portion of the session was spent trying to get into a meditative state and find a happy place. The only mild solution was having a conversation with my artist. He probably hates talking, and I felt that he had no actual interest in me as a person. I’m pretty sure he is one of those guys that says “I just do my job”.

After all was done and I was at home resting in my bed I had a mild anxiety attack. I immediately regretted getting a tattoo just because I couldn’t think of going back to another session. The partial design that I have now is great. At that time though, I was really thinking I now need to get laser removal to undo the mistake.

Now that I’m writing this with a clear head, I’m really digging my design, and completely accept that I overthought the actual significance of the tattoo. I mean that it’s just a tattoo. It doesn’t represent me fully, and even if I had a completely inked body then it wouldn’t mean much anyways

I love my tattoo and am excited to get it done. 

A Silent Retreat

My roommate is in a bit of weird head space right now. It shows me that no matter the age we all go through different obstacles and struggles, and being comfortable with yourself is a hard goal to accomplish. The chronically over-active, over-analyzing mind ruminates as well, sometimes poisoning your own satisfaction. It’s funny how we sabotage our own selves.

So he will be gone for 10 days. That means I’ll be alone for 10 days as well. His schedule will be vastly more intense. The itinerary has him eating twice a day and then meditating for about 14 hours, with meetings and breaks dispersed in between. You are not allowed to talk to anyone at this retreat, no eye contact neither.

I, on the other hand, will be living my normal life. It just so happens to be slightly more silent since I have no one to have nightly talks with at home. Looking at it now, nothing will change in my life. Simply quieter, but the great thing is that I’m in a great mental state so I have no desire to reach for my phone to text anyone. It’s fantastic.

My roommate should be back in one and a half weeks. I’m stoked to learn if he has reached enlightenment, or any other positive outcomes. It’s very possible he might think it was a terrible idea and regret everything. Either way, only good can come out of this.

…I have no idea how to end this other than saying I’m bored tonight…. So much for silence.

 

Better When Stolen

This was my view from some apartments in downtown. My roommate invited me to hang with his buddy, who lives there and got us into the rooftop patio. The views were gorgeous while the sun bounced off the clouds and the rays dispersed into the shadows. The opposite side had the city buildings reflecting the sun and illuminated beautifully.

We got access to this patio (a different apartment) because we got invited to it by the guy that invited us to the other rooftop. The luxury was oozing out from the main entrance. Everything was posh, clean, and a little over the top for it just being apartments.

We are only guests, we don’t live there. Every view, every angle was that more appreciated because it’s something I don’t ever have access to. If I was a billionaire, or just had a few more zeroes in my bank account, I can guarantee I wouldn’t be impressed as much.

The folks that were there were pretty interesting, to say the least. I mean, I’m only saying that because I feel like the folks that would live in these places would be a little more eccentric. But no, the gents and gals that were there were pretty normal. They all did yoga pretty regularly, but that’s no indicator of personality. Well, maybe more free spirited?

You didn’t need to be a millionaire to live in these apartments. As a matter of fact, just make decent money and live there. Technically, I could live there, but I wouldn’t be able to do many other things that I enjoy. If I was surrounded by people that had real money, like actual millionaires, I feel like I could expect some actual differences from “normal” people. I’m definitely projecting stereotypes here, but no bad intentions.

The phrase that comes to mind is “a little goes a long way”. If I was completely engulfed in a more “luxurious” world I don’t think I would be that impressed or appreciative of being there. If I see something gorgeous everyday, or have access to luxury stuff, then I don’t think it would be as meaningful. I live in a basement for crying out loud! Haha.