Move the fuck on

Yeah, so you remember I did that post about December being a bit introspective? January’s an altogether different sort of month, and by that I don’t just mean that we see things differently without a hangover.

It’s a fresh year! It’s a new dawn, it’s a new day, it’s a new life, and we’re feeeeeling goooooood. Let’s cast off those shackles and buy some new ones. Out with the old and whatnot. Leave everything about 2015 behind and never look back.

Oh, wait, fuck. That includes me, doesn’t it?

Change is inevitable. Especially if you shop where all the prices end in .99 and you only have pound coins to hand. I stopped saying ‘change must come from within’ when I almost inhaled 5p trying to make it happen. ‘Regurgitation’ doesn’t appear to be an endorsable skill on LinkedIn.

2016 is going to be a huge year for me if it pans out properly. Right now, I’m torn about leaving things/people I care about behind. Or at least I would be, if those people/things weren’t doing it to me first. The bastards.

(Seriously, where have all my socks and novelty paperclips gone?)

I think – I think – that I’m being done a massive favour here. I think I understand why.

Sometimes I make short trips to London, where I used to live. I was priced out and worn down until it made no sense to stay. It always upsets me to go back, and until yesterday I couldn’t work out what was wrong with me. I tried to leave the city behind, and it’s taken revenge on me by becoming a stubborn, unfeeling asshole. The commute is hell. The Tube is the second level of hell. London is an expensive, smoky, noisy, busy, tense place.

But what made me happy about being there was that it was comfortable. I would have happily pootled along with my life there and never aspired to do, be or see anything else. Why make the effort? Why put myself under unnecessary stress when I could just float along?

Because thinking like that is the enemy of creativity.

Having a comfort zone is lovely, even more so if that zone encompasses a whole city. That’s what I miss. My London-shaped security blanket. I thought it was the convenience and frequency of trains, but really it was the seductive inner sense of utter complacency. And that shit is dangerous.

To avoid getting too comfortable, every so often you need to stand up and move the fuck on. So let’s go.

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