I’ve always attempted to live my life as a series of experiments, that seems to be the only way to not die of regret. At the base of all these experiments is always the singular question, “What if?”.
What if I gave up on the IT life? What if I got a job about my passion? What if I was my own boss? These 3 questions define the last 6 years of my existence. In some ways it is sad that the pursuit of these questions has led to exponentially higher levels of misery, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.
It’s always better to know.
I’ve learned many things from these experiences, and I hope I’ll be able to make better decisions because of them in the future. It is however quite likely that I would continue to waste my life chasing idiotic answers that make no sense.
It is fun.
After 2 years of fucking around, I now have a regular job again. I spent these 2 years trying to understand what it felt like to have a job about something that you have an emotional attachment to, and what it felt like to have no job at all. Here’s what I learned.
For a person like me, it was a monumentally stupid idea to get a job about motorcycles. The overlap between work and fun was absolute, and I spent most of my time chasing the latter. I understood that I don’t really work well under pressure, and that it is quite impossible for me to work for someone else, unless it is something completely tasteless and ordinary. I also understood that I rather suck at marketing, the basic principle of which is the art of gaining attention, which is something that I detest. Most importantly, I realized that I’m not really a constructive creative individual, but a rather negative nihilistic one.
Not having a job and working for myself was far better as far as physical and mental health goes, but in every other aspect it was a disaster. I am a completely unmotivated individual, I do not give a shit about anything. I don’t care how many views my website gets, how many Youtube subscribers I have, or how much money I make per month. I know what I should do if I want to be a successful blogger, and I don’t do any of those things, on purpose. This means that either I don’t want to be successful, or that I’m incapable of doing the right thing. Either way, it is a frustrating experience to want to do something, and then have to fight your own damn self to do that same bloody thing.
My motivation to write has completely gone away since I’ve come to the UK. It appears that the only reason I wrote those long, angry articles was because I was trapped in India, and venting out my frustrations seemed like the only logical solution. Another evidence in this direction is the fact that I’ve lost most of my sarcasm.
I’m no longer trapped in India, and I’m no longer dependent on motorcycles, hence I have no irritations to upload online. The less I think about motorcycles, the more I realize what a stupid culture I’ve always been a part of, a culture of Royal Enfields and superbikes and showoffs. One of the primary qualities one requires to be a popular figure around automobiles, is the ability to elevate cars and bikes to something that’s not just a machine. The easiest way to do this is by introducing fashion into the culture, helping useless companies sell pointless stuff. It is painful that I wasted so many years of my life spending energy that fueled this mindlessness.
I enjoy motorcycles, but I don’t want to be a biker anymore.
In my new job, I am an insurance claims processor in a taxi company. It is probably the most banal job I’ll ever have, and I love that. When I get out of office, I’m free. I’m not constantly thinking about that one thing that overpowers my existence. I make minimum wage, which is a fucking insane amount of money for someone of my wants.
I haven’t had this type of financial security in years.
I walk, run, cycle, read books, meet new people, and experiment some more. A few days ago I met a man from Sierra Leone. Today I met a man from Afghanistan. I’m working with proper Brits, under a Pakistani boss, with people from Poland, Kenya, and Sri Lanka.
I have no need for social media anymore, my entire reason for posting stuff online was to get more traffic to my website, and once you start, it’s never enough. It is surreal to find that you haven’t looked at your phone in 5 hours, that you haven’t refreshed your Facebook feed all day, that you didn’t feel the need to post anything on Instagram for a week.
My life now spans only a 5 mile radius around myself, not dependent on online connections thousands of kilometers away.
I live in a tiny bedroom in a small house with shared kitchen and bath, I can pack my bags and fuck off in an hour. I have nothing of value, no car, no bike, no credit card. I take trains, taxis, buses, and sometimes good people give me lifts in their cars.
This is my new experiment, a completely ordinary life in a far away land.
My apologies to anybody who looked forward to my articles, I don’t think I’ll be writing much for at least the next few months. On the bright side, it is possible that the lack of reading material from my end would force you to expose yourself to something better. I obviously still love writing, but I think it was a mistake to try to make that into a career.
It’s better to keep somethings that you do for no reason.