As much as the title evokes the monotone cardigans of childhoods past, I’m not writing about ancient television shows. Though come to think of it, that wouldn’t be a bad topic, and I should keep it in mind for the future… but I digress. What I feel like writing about today is the joy of being 21, jobless and living at home. Yes, the joys. It might seem, to the external observer, that I wile away the hours doing, well, nothing. As I’ve mentioned before in my posts, I’m only just learning the value of having thusly labelled “unproductive” time. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: “When else?” is becoming my mantra.
Yesterday, a friend and I headed to a little town just outside our illustrious city. A gorgeous June day in Southern Ontario inspired us to just stroll around the village, appreciating the beauty in the architecture and funny little shops. For a little while, we were away from the driving force of the city and the pressure to get a job, settle down, and put our noses to the grindstone. Its not that I have a lot of pressure (externally) to do so, but the very fact of being a member of a success-centric society and a highly sensitive individual pressures me to live the proverbial dream.
I would argue that in fact, yesterday I was living the dream. Yesterday, I went to a village and wandered around on a whim. I appreciated the gorgeous scenery around me, from the fluffy clouds in the sky to a quirky brick wall. Yes, I just said that a wall was beautiful. That’s just the thing- what I find beautiful and inspiring, others might just see as an object to lean against, somewhere to rest a spell. And that, my friends, is just fine. Wandering around is not for everyone- and might be boring for many. But whatever it is that inspires you, I challenge you to just jump in and do it.
On my little jaunt of reveling in early twenties unemployedness, I felt like it was ok to just be me. I felt the sun beating down on my pasty little shoulders and enjoyed the feeling. It didn’t matter that the most productive thing I’d done that day was write 1000 words for my book that no one will probably ever publish. It didn’t matter that I was wearing shorts and it was a bit too cold for bare legs. It didn’t matter what time it was, or that it might be “dorky” to like antique shops. All that mattered was that it was a beautiful day in the neighbourhood, and we weren’t going to pass up the chance to enjoy it.