I’ve been keeping a journal since 2013. It’s hundreds of pages long. I find it an excellent way to get rid of thoughts that incessently run over and over again in my head. It also helps me crystallize them and see them objectively.


I’ve been biking down to Jack London square quite a lot recently, normally in the evening or night when the temperature has cooled and there are no other joggers or pedestrians. I try to bike fast and continuously (as a workout), then I get off, walk the pier, and bike back. During my walk, I sometimes like to stop and listen to the waves. On some nights, it’s so quiet, you can close your eyes and you wouldn’t even think the water is there.

On the first night I arrived, I had no idea the place was called Jack London square. The entrance has train tracks in front of it going across with gates that come down to stop pedestrians when a train is passing by, and it has a large, wide arch overtop with the letters “JACK LONDON” written in bright lights. The human mind is funny——it takes shortcuts. I suppose my mind just looked at the placement and size and categorized it as “title” and assumed it said “Pier some number” or something, so I didn’t actually read or process it. Oblivious, I entered the square and walked to the edge of the boardwalk and sat, listening to the waves. It had been a stressful week and I had been unable to exercise for weeks due to a wisdom tooth surgery, so it was a great relief to be able to get out of the house and just focus on breathing. Eventually I got up and started walking along the length of the pier beside the water, just staring at the docked boats as they gently rocked and the city skyline across the bay when I came across a prominently placed statue. It was dark so I pulled out my flashlight to look at it. He was standing up, with his back bent slightly forward and one hand that seemed to be moving to clutch his heart. At his feet was a plaque that I bent down to read.

I would rather be ashes than dust! I would rather my spark should burn out in a brilliant blaze than it should be stifled by dry rot. I would rather be a superb meteor, every atom of me in a magnificent glow, than a sleepy and permanent planet. The proper function of man is to live, not to exist. I shall not waste my days in trying to prolong them. I shall use my time. Jack London 1876 - 1916.

He was 40 years old. So let’s see… I guess I have 15 years left then. If, in my heart of hearts, I believed that, what would I be doing differently? I should be grateful. I enjoy working and I am compensated better than what I feel I deserve. But I wanted something more from life. When I was younger, I never had the money to travel, to see other countries, to eat different foods. Hell, I never even enjoyed Toronto, living in small rooms off campus, never exploring the city, just endlessly studying and working. But what’s stopping me now? It’s inertia. It’s a feeling of not deserving because I feel like I’m still so far behind. But it becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy in that way. I wanted something different from life, but as much as I tried to derail, I’ve fallen back into these tracks people call a “normal life” and I can’t get out. This is all so stupid though. What makes me think I’m special?

I was slowly walking back, one hand on the handle of my bike, rolling it along beside me as I stared at the ground thinking, making my way toward the exit. First I heard the horn, distant and faint. I didn’t really care——it was just city background noise. But slowly it grew louder and louder and I heard the chugging of the engine and the wheels screeching on the rails, so I started walking a little faster, but it was too late. The red lights started flashing, the gates came down and concomitant, the deafening, high-pitched ringing, right in my ear. My life took on this dream-like quality. The wind as it whipped around me, the swirling leaves in the night air, the flashing lights and the cacophony of the train horn, the screeching rails, and the loud ringing, it was like some alarm clock in the wider universe was going off, screaming at me to wake up.