Momentum is overrated. Seductive, but overrated.
It’s praised in sports and politics, and in life most of us seek it, believing momentum is a powerfully positive force. And yes, sometimes it is. But unchecked momentum can cause us to spiral into a series of compounding choices that can, like Icarus, lead us too close to the proverbial sun, only to flare out and fall.
Decisions tend to build on decisions, no matter where they pop up in our lives. Big purchases, job options, romance, deciding where to live — all of these massive life choices weigh so heavily on us that once we start down one path, other paths seem to fall away.
Each new detail is a seduction, be it a new real estate listing that looks enticing, a text from a lover, maybe a car that’s precisely the color you want, with all the options. In some cases, this process can be a good thing. We’re honing our decisions, getting closer to the goal: learning more about our chosen path, narrowing down what it is we really want. But are we?
Sometimes we can get so obsessed with what we think we want that we fail to see obstacles obvious to outsiders. That house or car you desire isn’t within your means, but you spend all your time figuring out how you might be able to swing it. That relationship you’re in is overheating, but you’re so focused on your ardor that the rest of your life — like, for example, buying that house — suffers. The seemingly sexy travel perk of a job offer blinds you to the fact that traveling constantly is far less glamorous than you know (Trust me on this one).
You know the old movie “Fools Rush In?” (It’s from 1997, and yeah, that’s 25 years ago.) That saying is, alas, widely applicable. Too many times I have seen friends rush into something so all-in that they flame out of it in months. I’ve done it, too.
Fire is a useful metaphor here. I’ve run wood-fired grills in my life as a cook. They are tricky to keep burning well all day long. You build the fire every morning and keep it blazing through lunch service, moving the coals, adjusting, stoking. It’s sweaty and fierce and wonderful. Addicting.
But once lunch ends, you need to let the fire die down, not all the way, but to embers; starting from zero again is doable, but not ideal. You must brush away the dead ash, clean the grill grates, and keep those embers happy until it comes time to stoke them again for dinner. Then it all begins again.
Each time you undertake this process, you tinker, you learn. You get better at it.
I needed this reminder on the Solstice last week. I took this longest day to take stock of the maelstrom of my life. Many of those Big Life Decisions are spinning around in my head right now, but chief among them is the realization that while I love to travel, nomad life is not for me.
I need a garden. I need a kitchen. I need a home, even if it is just a home base. It’s been five months now, and each month has become increasingly difficult. My work is suffering. So I am finally starting to do something about it. I am breaking the spiral, stopping the terrible momentum that has gripped me.
Quiet and solitude are prerequisites for figuring all this out. Right now, I am writing this in a basement Airbnb in Cheyenne, Wyoming, because I don’t know anyone in Cheyenne. No distractions.
Ultimately, though, I need people. I know that. I need companionship, I need someone to cook for, whether they are friends or lovers, readers or strangers. Other than writing, cooking is how I express myself. It is a giving act, and with no one to give it to, I feel hobbled.
I’d love to be able to tell you that this stock-taking will lead to success, for me or for you. But I can’t, because it’s just not true. Sometimes it leads only to yet another moment of self-assessment. Sometimes you later realize that you broke what really was positive momentum, and now that moment is lost. And sometimes taking stock lets you to see that this path you’ve been on was doomed from the start.
But maybe it wasn’t. Maybe what you needed was the chance to halt that unchecked momentum, to cool off and reassess, and that is what allowed you to finally walk the path you were meant to. Solstice was my opportunity for that. Yours may be Thursday on a train, staring out the window. Or a walk in the woods. Whatever it is, do it. You will be better for it.
Understanding the hurt is a main ingredient for the heal…
Love the fire analogy🙏 life is a whirlwind, and for us DEEP thinkers (and often overthinkers), it can be hard to sort out the priorities and directions that life pulls us in. I always appreciate your vulnerability through the written word, and commend your journey of reset and self discovery