The Auto-Pilot Year

13 January 2023

Another January has rolled around, the worst month of the twelve if you ask me. Thirty-one days of perpetual illness, stifling regret and a misplaced resolve for betterment.

This is the first year in a few I’m not having a dry January. I’m thirteen days into being nicotine free. I’ve tried and failed to kick the shit more times than I can count on both hands, and I figured if I had a fighting chance of not crumbling I would need at least one beer this month. Quitting is rough. The withdrawals make you feel soulless and an absolute void of any motivation, but once you survive the first week it’s okay.

I am striving for self-improvement this year, and for the first time it’s an inherently selfish form of self-improvement. I want to become someone people describe as “nice” rather than “intense” or “a bit much”. I’m done with delusions of grandeur and self-fulfilling prophesies. The script has been thrown in the bin, the shark has been successfully jumped and we’re phoning it in from here on out, folks.

Twenty-four is an odd age, my thoughts have become less erratic. The ripples on the surface caused by the stones throw of teenage rebellion seem to be settling, the waters are calmer than they have been before*.

All I really yearn for is contentment and day-to-day ease. I’m not sure if this is due to the harsh realization that the revolution isn’t just a t-shirt away and that all hope of Western leftism collapsed with the wall, or if I’ve just become complacent in that way people often do.

You hear that you become more conservative with age, and I don’t believe that to be true, I just think late-capitalism is so expert in disillusionment. How the fuck are we meant to maintain any semblance of rebellious hope when the machines are on their third victory lap?

And with that I’ve resorted to the oh-so-predictable distractions and goals. I’ve decided to read a chapter of fiction every day, drink more water, not skip taking my medication, keep on top of the washing up, drink nicer coffee, spend less money. All the shit that would make my nihilistic teenage self want to blow their fucking brains out. But who cares what that guy thinks, he was miserable anyway.

Another go around the sun it is then.

*This is just a roundabout way of calling myself smooth-brained.