I think there are two “New Years” starting points in every 12-month period: the first being New Year’s Eve, of course, and the second being Labor Day, the herald of the year’s end.
Year’s end? Yeah, basically. The last lap. Every beginning is preceded by an end.
Interestingly, Labor Day is traditionally celebrated in September, the ninth month, just like a human’s gestation period…basically….though some say ten months is more accurate…the martinets.
You can feel it. Something about the fall air saturated with sage, the V-formations of geese flying south, and especially the scent of fallen leaves, with all its dear decay…it symbolizes a new beginning, somehow, watching the world die a bit.
Death must portend a new beginning. If nothing ever died, we’d still be crocodiles.
Renewal in September has been bred into us by way of custom, an annual routine the world over, especially since it’s the beginning of a school year when everyone advances a grade in reality and rises a step on the ladder symbolically. Come September, the 10-year-old fifth grader morphs into the 10-year-old sixth grader. Our civilization relies heavily on routines, schedules, and boring traditions, both long-term and short.
It doesn’t bother most people, but sometimes the daily grind bugs the hell out of me.
I hate the routine of a 40-hour week. It killed me, as I think it kills most people. Up, shower, feed, drive, work-work-work, lunch, work-work-work, drive home. Capitalism at its finest: a soul-sucking regimen, a tiresome routine that will assassinate our souls. That said, just as a bad routine will kill us, a good routine will save our lives.
A good routine is a strength.
A good routine helps you get things done. It’s because even though your mind isn’t in the mood, your body—like a well-trained horse—will just walk the route anyway, because it simply doesn’t feel right until the routine is completed. Most animals are that way. Man is an animal.
Strive to invent your own routine. In so doing, you can reinvent yourself.
And relax. If you’ve got nowhere to go, and no place where you’ve gotta be, then count yourself blessed. You’re right where you should be.
It’s what rich people dream of.