Do you ever wonder about the significance of your artifacts?

As in

if Mount Vesuvius erupted right now and you couldn’t run fast enough but all of your things survived — do you wonder what the people would find? Do you wonder whether they would find you interesting if they discovered the scribbles in your journal and your unfinished sudoku puzzle book? Do you wonder whether they’d imagine your life? Do you wonder whether whatever lasted longer than you would be enough to pique the interest of whichever strangers decide what goes into the exhibitions at the museums?

Also

Will I ever get tired of doing exactly what I want to do? Like — will I ever decide that typing all these little words while I listen to my Spotify daylist (motown 70s wednesday morning) while I sip my filter coffee while I take breaks to dance is just not right?

or is not just right

?

Will I ever just decide that I should rather do what other people want me to do instead?

like taxes? and laundry?

And

Where is the line between getting good at your job and getting too comfortable? And then where is the line between comfortable and complacent? And then where does the monotony get mixed in? And how monotonous is this life meant to be?

and

Are we better at remembering than imagining? Is that why one year in retrospect seems short but one year in-future imagining seems long? Or does one year begin to seem shorter once we have racked up so many of them just staying in one place?

Is it about time or boredom?

Do I need to always be doing things I have never done or is it enough to understand that each new day is a day never-before-seen and is, therefore, already new and full of possibility?

What are the limits of the beginner’s mind?

xx