New Life

I started a new job today. For some, this would be a time of excitement, a new challenge to feast upon, a gateway into a world of new friends, new opportunities, new newy stuff. 

Indeed, I’ve always loved The New.  In my youth, there was the thrill of changing schools and hoping it’ll somehow make learning easier and there’ll be someone desperate to go out with you, as an adult, the buzz of a new job and the promise of becoming financially solvent, and throughout my life,  the unknown pleasure of discovering new booze. Although it’s been about a gazillion years since I finally worked my way through all known types of alcohol.  Verdict? Campari tastes like earwax. The rest of it is pretty palatable.   

The embarkation into the untouched is often accompanied by a smorgasbord of mental and emotional states, in much the same way as dropping acid, but with less vivid colours. A dash of nerves, a slice of worry, a side of eager anticipation. I like to believe it’s a hangover from our pre-historic ancestors, out in the savannah, wandering aimlessly into the unchartered in search of food, shelter and, latterly, fame.  They would’ve crossed deserts, traversed jungles, not knowing whether their journey would end in the discovery of a banquet of plenty, or becoming a banquet of plenty.

Partly I like to think this to remind myself we are connected, across millennia, though space and time, with that diaspora, starting in deepest Africa and forging its way into the world, into the East, into the Americas, into Milton Keynes. Partly I like to think of it for that fervent romantic idea, but mostly it’s to remind me that I believe in evolution, so I can feel intellectually smug, even if spiritually bereft. It’s a fair trade-off. 

Last night however, I felt none of these things.  I wasn’t brimming with happy suspense, like a cat in bag, nor edgily nervous, like the same cat. I was indifferent. I went to bed a little earlier, but that was my only concession.  And I slept pretty well. 

I suspect this means one of two things. Either I’m the endpoint of evolution, or, more likely, I’ve changed schools/jobs/addresses/cigarette brands so often that there is nothing new about The New. My fickle nature has killed the thrill of change.  Variety may be the spice of life, but even a diet of curry needs a plain nan. 

In order to counter this, I’ve decided to take drastic action.  I’m going to not leave my job, not pack up my troubles in a Berghaus kit bag, and not hit the hippy trail in India, nor the Inca trail in Peru. I’m heading for darkest dull routine.  It’s new for me. I’m quite excited.