on inertia
a dispatch from the hamster wheel
There are a lot of things I want out of life, and most of them end with the word “more.” I want to travel more, write more, experience more. Read more, feel more, be more than I am now. No matter how far I go or what I achieve, I’m always reaching further, wanting to squeeze as much out of life as possible. There’s always more I could be doing. Even in moments of celebration, dissatisfaction lurks in the shadows, waiting to make itself known as soon as I finally feel like I’m making progress.
The crux of my persistent desire for more is that I also happen to be extremely prone to inertia. Inertia, in a non-physics context, is defined as “lack of activity or interest, or unwillingness to make an effort to do anything.” Newton’s first law of motion tells us that an object in motion will stay in motion and an object at rest will remain at rest, unless said object is acted upon by an external force.
For quite awhile now I’ve been running in circles. I’ll feel wholly convinced that I’m getting somewhere, but when I take a moment to observe my surroundings I’ll realize that I’ve already been here before. I feel bound to the path I’m on, and sometimes I fear I don’t have it in me to escape it on my own.
The longer things seem to remain unchanged, the more restless I become. Restlessness, I’ve learned, serves a distinct purpose; it’s an invitation for movement. Most of the time, 30 minutes of exercise will scratch the itch well enough. Other times, it’s that I simply need to get out of the house and be around people who aren’t my husband. Sometimes, however, it doesn’t matter what I do—the restlessness becomes demanding to the point that I’m unable to easily placate it. It’s only then that I realize that perhaps it’s time for meaningful change in my life.
The inertia, however, is what gets in the way. It’s a perpetual feeling of stuckness; like I’m walking through waist-deep quicksand. And to my dismay, I am both the quicksand and the person trying to tread through it. For as long as I can remember, making any sort of significant life change has been something that I do excruciatingly slowly—think years, not months.
I used to be a server, and my last serving job before escaping the industry altogether was at a well known Asian chain restaurant (that once was hilariously confused with the host city of the 2018 Winter Olympics). I was somewhere around 7 or 8 months into my tenure there when I first had the overwhelming urge to quit and seek greener pastures. There were multiple instances where I was absolutely certain that I would.
I vividly remember leaving one of my shifts feeling so beaten down that I’d resolved to give my notice the next day. I had no plan, no clue what would happen next, and no qualms about the risk of quitting without something else lined up. That’s how relieving the prospect of quitting that job was. The lightness I felt on the drive home that day was indescribable—all my windows were rolled down as I coasted home, doing 75 on the freeway, “American Girl” by Tom Petty blasting through the shitty speakers of my Honda Accord. It was euphoric.
As you can probably guess, I did not give my notice the next day, and wouldn’t for at least two more years. By the time I finally got around to it, I’d spent that long hating working there—and doing it very loudly. People would sometimes ask me, “Hannah, why do you still work there if you hate it so much? There are plenty of other restaurants you could work at instead.” Every time, I’d tell them that when I weighed my options, I decided I’d rather remain in familiar hell (albeit with amazing coworkers) than face the unknown. Better the devil you know, right?
I’d like to think that most of us have a story like that; one where we find ourselves feeling stagnant, biding our time in a situation that we fervently dislike for far longer than we should. Of course, there are plenty of good enough reasons not to change things. It could be a matter of security and safety, or of practicality. Maybe the time isn’t right, or we’re feeling unstable in other areas of our lives. Sometimes, however, it’s as simple as fearing the unknown and allowing that fear to stand in our way.
“My life was like a dusty shelf in an old bookstore, where every volume was exactly where it had been for ages, the only discernible change being that my body has aged another ten years.” — Mieko Kawakami, ‘Breasts and Eggs’
Over the past couple of months, I’ve experienced an awakening of sorts. It’s become increasingly clear that I’ve spent the last several years coasting through life, simply allowing it to happen to me. I’ve grown increasingly dissatisfied with the idea of remaining on the path I’m on, but I stay the course because it’s a path I’ve come to intimately know. The running in circles? It’s comfortable. Easy. Safe.
All this time, I think I’ve been waiting for some force outside myself to propel me onto a different path. But the reality is this: I’m not an object on a fixed path—I am a woman with free will, and if I truly want to change my trajectory, it’s up to me to do it.
The images featured in this post are from Geloy Concepcion’s project, “Things you wanted to say but never did.” You can find his work on Instagram.