What I Actually Like

Somewhere between surviving and getting by, I lost track of what I actually like.

Not the big things. I still know what matters to me, what I believe in, who I love. I’m talking about the small stuff. The stuff that doesn’t show up on any list of priorities because it never felt important enough to protect. A favorite song. A show I actually wanted to watch instead of just had on. A hobby that existed purely because it felt good, not because it led anywhere.

Somewhere along the way, everything I did had to justify itself. Was it productive. Was it useful. Was it moving something forward. If the answer was no, it quietly got pushed out, one small thing at a time, until I looked up and realized my whole life was function. Nothing left that existed just because I liked it.

I don’t think this happened all at once. Nobody sits you down and tells you to stop enjoying things. It’s slower than that. You get busy. You get tired. You start choosing the version of rest that requires the least effort. Eventually that becomes the only version you know how to reach for.

The strange part is I didn’t even notice the shift while it was happening. I noticed the absence. One day somebody asked what I was into lately and I didn’t have an answer. Not because nothing interested me. Because I hadn’t checked in with myself long enough to know.

I’m trying to get curious about myself again. Not in a big, dramatic way. Just small experiments. Trying things without deciding in advance whether they’re worth my time. Letting liking something be reason enough.

I don’t know exactly who I am when I’m not performing okay, or performing capable, or performing fine. I’m starting to think that’s worth finding out.