I Take My Tea With Glitter
Yesterday's teacup still stood on my counter with a dry teabag and two teaspoons of sugar, ready to be doused in boiling water. I had forgotten all about it yesterday, in fact, I have now forgotten what I even did to forget about the tea... Oh well. There is, however, something I do remember. And that is the feeling of excitement.
I had a conversation with my sister a few months ago, asking her if she still felt excitement about things.
"What do you mean exactly?" she asked.
I told her about my struggle with it, feeling excitement.
"Do you remember the thrill you felt when you went to an amusement park on a field trip? Or perhaps when you ran across the waterpark, trying to reach the top of the stairs to the slides the fastest? When you thought about becoming an adult, studying, working and living alone in your own apartment?
I remember all of them, remember the excitement I felt.
But I haven't experienced it in months."
I told her all of this and more, but with it, I also reserved the time to tell her about what I was going to do about it. I explained my plan in detail: I would commit to the things that I have found excitement or enjoyment in previously, projects that I could throw myself into, to try to reestablish a lost connection to myself and my being. So that is what I set out to do.
I practised handstands in the gym, got covered in flour while making homemade ravioli, read a book or watched a movie without looking at my phone, attended a museum event by myself, and, most recently, I moulded a small sculpture out of clay. Lacking discipline, I did not do all of these things all the time — but I was at least trying to bring those parts of myself back into my life.
Over the last couple of months, I have come to a beautiful realisation through such experiences. Where I was first worried about my lack of excitement, through thinking and reflecting, I realise that it does not necessarily have to be a bad thing, this lack of excitement. It just means that my life is being lived in the now. The acts I committed myself to, some acts of creation, some of rest, it was the intentionality behind them that kept me grounded in the present. It was never about pasta or clay — never about a specific activity. It was about me purposefully choosing what to do, and doing it.
Of course, my thoughts about the future are still present, and there is the occasional spark of enjoyment paired with anxiety, wondering what it holds. But I am not worried about lacking excitement anymore, because it is through engaging with my agency and my ability to create, through exploring and discovering what I can do, that excitement is slowly returning. Not necessarily about the future, but excitement about my life as a whole.
The crystals dissolve, the colour of the leaves slowly dissipates into the water, and I bring the cup of tea to my table. A little container of edible glitter stares at me invitingly. My daily tea is filled with glimmering, shiny specks of excitement, and I drink the concoction amicably. So now when someone asks me if I want sugar in my tea, I tell them: "No, thank you, just glitter for me".
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