A Manifesto for a More Wondrous Age

Once we started talking about moving, we started joking about joining a run club as a way to meet new people—but as time went on, it became less and less of a joke. Were we really “run club people?” A run club just felt too yuppy. But I guess we are.

I’m not against running—far from it—but running is basically something I’ve always done by myself. Yet here we are, in a new city, and a run club is an easy way to meet other reasonably fit people. Eventually, it started sounding good.

Often, I don’t want to do something social, but when I go, I end up having fun. It’s stupid, but this has been a key realization for me over the past few years. I still think of myself as an introvert (whatever that means); I enjoy just hanging out around my apartment, or in a casual setting like a cafe; I look forward to the days I can just “do nothing” in my own way—but it’s good to be social, too. With moving, it was almost the perfect excuse to just go do stuff. I see an event that appeals to me, and I try to go.

Okay, I'm tired. So what?

After moving, as I tried to find a time to go to the run club (it meets once a week), I tended to always find an excuse. It’s raining tonight. This week, I’d have to go alone. It’s so late; would I need to eat dinner separately before? How late would I be out? Isn’t it bad to exercise late at night? There’s always a lot of excuses I can come up with to not go. The secret is just doing it anyways.

This week, I finally went. I went alone, but even so, I met people, and had fun. I knew no one there, but I fell into it right away. I’ve been trying to make more Japanese friends, and I met a few new people last night, both Japanese people and other foreigners. The previous weekend, I went to another photo event (Tokyo seems to be an endless fount of these) and made another friend. There’s really only one way to do this: by putting yourself out there. Had I listened to all my excuses, some of which were even good, I’d still be sitting and waiting for something to change. But most change comes from within, with intent.

I felt this when I started going to the gym more seriously, too. Most of the time, I had a lot of fun, but there were plenty of days where the prospect of going to spend an hour at the gym after a full workday didn’t exactly sound great. I'm tired. But soon, it became essential for me to go those days, almost because I didn’t want to—as if in spite of myself. Okay, I'm tired. So what?

I'm a big advocate for good sleep. Since getting a sleep tracker I've been way more conscious about those sorts of metrics, and I believe it's made me overall healthier. But a number on a screen doesn't change the way you live your life. I generally sleep well, exercise well, eat well. If I sleep poorly for a night, I try and get to bed a little earlier the next one. But we're resilient creatures.

With moving, it was almost the perfect excuse to just go do stuff. I see an event that appeals to me, and I try to go.

It was the same thing with writing. I told myself for years that there was something lacking in my approach, that once I read and analyzed this next novel, this craft book, went to this talk or did this course, or freed up some other aspect of my life, I’d have everything I needed to finally—truly—write. It never worked. What I needed was to do the work, because I didn’t want to; because I felt unprepared. What prepares you to do the work is doing it.

After the run, I felt good. So good that I got off the train at a stop early just to run the last couple of kilometers home (with my iPod, of course). It was well-past sunset when I was working out, an extreme rarity for me. I showered late, ate late, and went to sleep late. Sure enough, I didn’t sleep perfectly. Was it ideal? No. But I was up around six the next morning to go to the gym—even though I was tired.


You’ve successfully subscribed to Monochromatic Aberration
Welcome back! You’ve successfully signed in.
Great! You’ve successfully signed up.
Success! Your email is updated.
Your link has expired
Success! Check your email for magic link to sign-in.