Slacking Off
My Japanese teacher and I recently were talking about the phrase, "ikigai." A few years ago, this word (meaning "[one's] meaning of life") rose to prominence after a few self-help books started using it; another in the surprisingly-long trend of Japanese words taken to imply an entire worldview or philosophy. In English, these books advocated for finding some task at the intersection of a few points, namely your skills and passions, suggesting both that you could discover your life's purpose, and also your ideal job. But in Japanese, the usage is a bit different. It could be something small, like spending time with your family. The connection to work is tenuous at best ("What would they do if they lost their jobs?" my teacher wondered).
She asked me to consider a few things that might be my "ikigai," and perhaps naturally, I came up with writing and photography. These are both hobbies of mine, and something I aspire to make careers out of (or at least a little money), but if I removed money from the equation, I'd still do both. No one pays me for the street photography or the snapshots I take, despite those being the styles of work I get the most pleasure in, and I'm yet to make any money on my fiction (or certainly my journal). Writing shapes the way I think, the way I see the world, I explained; it's an essential part of how I engage with myself and others. Photography connects me to my surroundings in a way I struggle to without. I likened it to Zen Buddhism: a relentless search for beauty in a moment. These are passions of mine, and I take pleasure in the act as much as the outcome.
I think about this a lot in regards to my habits, as well. Just as "In writing the book, you become the writer who is capable of writing the book." (paraphrased from Matt Bell), and "How you spend your days is how you spend your life," (Annie Dillard), your habits are an expression of that life you hope to achieve. There's little gap between the process and the outcome. Yet this isn't the whole story; there's a larger context that all these items fit into.
For me, I've found it works best to try and do things as close to daily as possible. I lose steam otherwise. Nothing's quite automatic, frictionless for me like I hoped it'd become. I could stop journaling tomorrow, and I'd feel bad about it, and try and start again—but I know actually not doing it would be easy. So I force myself to keep it up. I don't want to miss a day of working out, of practicing guitar, and of course, of writing.
But Matt also said, "Your goal each day is not to write the novel." You have to get their through diligent work, but these are steps on / toward enlightenment. There are days my partner and I have been working too much, and I willingly turn off the alarm so we can sleep in together. There are nights I've yet to journal, but decide to go walk and chat with her through our sunset neighborhood, ice cream in hand. Because this is life. I'm not exactly sure how everything will lead me to my goal, but I know that it will.
I want to work towards all these things in life: publishing a novel, reaching "fluency" in Japanese—but none of these happen in a day. It's a process. If I miss a day, I can just start fresh tomorrow. Isn't that a wonderful thing?
