So here we are, having fulfilled our summertime prerequisites. We swam, we ate, we drank. Those with families held their breath searching for a moment of peace. Those single, attempted yet another bar and yet another drink searching amongst the crowds for a memory to be made. Those in love sunk deep into each other. The workaholics forced themselves to rest and just like their adrenaline-fueled routines they ticked yet another thing off the list: must holiday. Tick.
Belonging to the workaholic crowd, I too allowed myself this summer to force a holiday. Three full weeks. It wasn't the best I ever had, but it served its' purpose. I rested. Mentally and physically. And now here I am, a week into reality and it feels like not a day has passed. The crowds are slowly coming back and Athens is filling with its usual angry and frustrated citizens. This year, having created this extra reservoir of energy for myself, I dived deep into organisation mode motivated by post-holiday ambition. Files and folders filled with new pieces of paper, emails and desktops cleared, long deliberations over the alphabetical or numerological ordering of my life. Very important, important, not important. Delete. To post, not to post, to call not to call, most important project, best client, worst client, must definitely call client. Money in, money out, money paid, money owed. All in a desperate attempt to create some sort of control. A wishful thinking list of dealing better with my life this time.
Thing is, life cannot be put into a folder. Nor can day to day emotions be put into alphabetical order. We do try though, and sure it does help, maybe even on an existential level. An archive to remind us that we lived. That we paid our bills on time and that we did the right thing. This year I have decided to add a new folder to my colour co-ordinated filing system. This folder will have a sticker on it that writes: JOY. In capital letters. Just like all the other folders. In it though, there will be no papers and nothing to tick off, no best nor worst, no bills and no receipts. In it there will only be the hope that this year I might have some.