After reading Four Thousand Weeks by Oliver Burkeman, I realised that if I frame the I time I have left on this Earth in weeks, I don’t have much left. 1999 weeks* is not a lot; at least, it’s not enough when you’re a perpetual fantasiser whose ratio of fantasy to action is 1000:1.

That meager 1999 weeks is even more sobering when I reviewed the 1653 weeks I have lived: unemployed, friendless, and directionless. With those two realisations, I’m considering giving life another shot. I am not starting from scratch because as much I want to deny the few privileges I was granted or worked hard for, I might be able to muster some of them to seize those weeks IF I have the will.

But I don’t have the will to be better.

The universe can give me anything to push me forward but without the will, I won’t be able to salvage the shattered foundation of my life and rebuild it.

I am beginning to come to terms with my lack of will. I cannot wait for it to come anymore. What’s truly up to me is my actions; maybe that’s where salvation is: to act in the absence of will.

It’s not to feel then act but to act then feel.

• until age 70