Recently, I have been struggling with motivation. Well, I say recently, I have been struggling with motivation for as long as I can remember, with sudden bursts of energy interspersed with a general sense of melancholy and resignation for well over a decade. Over the past few weeks or so, however, those bursts have become ever more fleeting, to the point where it has been difficult to find the will to even get out of bed in the morning. 

Getting out of bed has been something I’ve struggled with forever. Thankfully, my recent issues have been down to a feeling of general sluggishness, rather than the feelings of hopelessness and despair that clouded me not so long ago, but the result is the same, even if the severity of the depression is not. I have been setting my alarm for 05.45, which is my usual wake up time, but snoozing them until 08.00, fifteen minutes past the time at which I should start work (as a disclaimer, I have been making up the hours later in the day, should my boss ever somehow stumble across this piece). 

It is difficult to overstate the effect this has on the rest of the day, such is the feeling of lethargy that sleeping-in cultivates. I struggle to focus on my work, I have no desire to walk the dog, my cravings for sugary foods increase, my mood deteriorates, my self-criticism intensifies, and so on and so forth. Logic would suggest that an extra two hours of rest should leave one feeling refreshed and raring to go, but an over-reliance on logic is surely one of the greatest pitfalls of the modern world. 

Last night, therefore, I set out a task list in my calendar for today, and vowed that I would be up and out of bed when my alarm sounded at 7am come hell or high water. Four hours later (it is now 11am), I have been to the gym, showered, eaten breakfast, read The Times, walked the dog, played a few games of Chess, done some laundry, and written this piece. I feel better than I have in weeks, and all because I got out of bed on time. 

I suppose the reflection here, therefore, is that you can spend all the time in the world reading philosophy and pondering the meaning of life, but unless you have the routines and habits in place that allow you to seize the day and take advantage of life, you’re doomed to fall at the first hurdle. 

From a personal perspective, I think my own issue is that spending so long languishing in the doldrums of nihilism allowed me to place the blame for my lack of motivation squarely on the lack of any meaning to life itself. Returning once again to the incendiary topic of logic, it follows quite naturally that there is no point getting out of bed if your entire existence is itself pointless. Now that crutch has been removed, and I have embraced the desire to pursue the opportunities that life offers us, it is easy to forget that this does not directly equate to any innate motivation to get out of bed. Motivation to lead a fulfilling life and actually doing so are two very different things, and the latter requires frankly gargantuan amounts of hard and consistent work. 

So, in conclusion, life is a beautiful thing, but if you don’t get out of bed in the morning, don’t expect to experience its full beauty.