It’s time for a reboot.

As it turns out, I do this a lot – literally, resetting my life after things have stopped making any sense. I’m 36 and twice-divorced – it’s hard to have a more significant reset than that, my friends.

It’s been 18 months of this pandemic. 18 months that have seen a furlough, layoff, extended unemployment, shitty job interviews, the best job I’ve ever had, and the most professionally-creatively fulfilled I’ve ever felt. 

It’s been 18 months and I feel like I’m a different person. Which means it’s time to take stock, re-assess, and reboot.

Because the thing is, I’m tired of apologizing.

I’m tired of apologizing for wanting to be safe.

I’m tired of apologizing for having the means – remote work, good pay, and little life responsibilities – to stay safe.

I’m tired of apologizing for living in Florida, home of the Freedumb Fighting Antivaxx, Antimask Covid-Denying Patriots who Vote Against Their Own Best Interests Even if it Kills Them (and Especially When it Does Kill Them). The COVID story in Florida is like a vinyl record with a DeSantis-sized scratch straight through it. We’re repeating the same horrible events over and over and over again but Floridaman thinks the record scratch is just an intentional part of the beat.

I’m tired of apologizing for Florida, but this is where I am. This is where I own my house, and – guess what?? – this is where I have the means to stay cautious and safe, despite my governor’s persistent, insistent attempts to murder all of his constituents through shit public health policy.

I’m tired of apologizing to work, family, and other insignificant strangers – no, the petri-dish of infection rates and the capacity-breaking hospital system does not leave me comfortable stepping out of my bubble. Two shots of Pfizer is not a biohazard suit-of-armor when the rest of Floriduh’s residents are practically spitting in each other’s mouths.

(My general rule of thumb: when the transmission and hospitalization rates are low-to-insignificant, then it’s safe out. What’s the point of risking infection – or literally anything else – if you won’t be able to receive the care you need at a hospital?)

I’m tired of apologizing. So I think I’ll stop. 

Here’s the pattern: new circumstances are introduced (job, significant other, pandemic), I learn and adapt, I get comfortable in the new routine, and then I slowly find my way back to the important things.

For me, those important things have always been personal creative work that satisfies my soul.

That’s the pattern, now here’s the reboot: life either supports the creative premise or it doesn’t. If it doesn’t, fuck it (within all reason).

‘Tis the season.

Devilmas runs from October 1 through December 31. It’s about the family you choose, zombies and horror films, getting drunk, high, and happy, and doing creative shit for yourself. 

It’s the anti-holiday season.

It’s also the perfect time to reevaluate what’s important and who you want to be.

In other words … it’s the perfect time for a reboot.

Along with no longer apologizing for having the means and the desire to not get COVID, here are the top three things I think about when reevaluating, dismantling, and rebooting my life.

Less is more. 

I’ve already gone through several phases of minimalism, and mentally, I don’t hold onto very much. I’ve lived in tiny houses and trailers, even though that home I’m not apologizing for has four bedrooms and is nearly 2,000 square feet. (There are still random drawers in the kitchen that are just … empty.)

My brain is wired for minimalism, but it’s not always at the forefront. A reboot is an excellent opportunity to recenter that priority. And while I’m not planning on downsizing my house or anything in it, I do have one exception to minimalism. This fervent and unapologetic tech fetish can definitely be put in check.

Minimalism helps me refocus from:

“Oooh, shiny new gadget!” to:

“Pay off the car. Pay off the house. This is the way.”

More or less.

The last 18 months have been a strange tug-of-war with productivity (this will tie into my third point below). While unemployed, I doubled down on my personal creative work, mainly focusing on writing (adapting, rewriting, and polishing novellas, writing a mess of short stories, developing and writing a few drafts of a feature film for a friend).

Of course, when you’re unemployed (as well as when you’re freelancing), you’re never really “off”. This means that even though I hadn’t worked for a year, it was still one of the most overworked and stressful times of my life. You know what I’m talking about. And if you don’t, see above – I’m not apologizing anymore, especially to people who simply lack the experience or the imagination (or the empathy) to be reasonable.

My point here is that, in the grand scheme of life, I wanted to find a space where I was okay doing nothing. Fuck productivity and just chill, literally at 100%.

And let me tell you: it’s fucking hard. Maybe not impossible, but definitely hard.

Now here’s the plot twist (more or less). The task of giving myself permission to do nothing is carefully balanced with an inexplicable kind of inner peace. It’s literally a quieted mind and soul – something that I only discover when lost in a meaningful piece of creative work.

This got me thinking that perhaps the illusion of productivity isn’t so bad. (Obviously, this isn’t a blanket statement. A lot depends on the person you are and if you struggle with our society’s fetishization of productivity. If that’s you, then please take this section with an appropriate serving size of salt.)

Productivity doesn’t matter as much as how my chosen activities feed my soul.

Work is work is work, but if I can prioritize creative art that helps me lose myself for hours at a time, well, maybe that is being productive. Or maybe it’s just doing what makes me happy.

Finally, nothing matters. Finally.

This is always the most valuable part of any reboot since it’s foundational and spans all other concepts. 

In 36 years, I’ve learned the hard way how to be a pretty chill human, but things still get to me. At work – that best job I’ve ever had? – frustrations still mount. At home, when something insignificant disrupts the status quo.

But the truth is that nothing actually matters. And that perspective helps put frustrations into their place.

We’re all just a speck of dust hurtling through the cosmos on another speck of dust, and – statistically speaking – when compared to an infinitely expanding universe, humanity doesn’t even exist.

Nothing matters.

Except for the things that do matter. Which is whatever the fuck I want those things to be. Because nothing actually matters.

Talk about life hacks that matter.

Cheers, motherfuzzers.

###