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SHOULD I worry, doctor? I'm in my mid-late 20s
(I like to call it the Thursday of my youth)
yet I'm beginning to adopt the somewhat phobic
and very apprehensive lifestyle values of a
geriatric. Don't scoff, because if you too had
(willingly) been a bar-columnist for months on
end, the prospect of another late, adventurous
night at yet another bar would turn your
stomach as well. It is, however, a vicious
cycle only a high-tech "disciplinatron" could
resist if one lives (on) in this city.
I first started to notice the signs of my
flagging nightlife morale when I was on an
island holiday with some visiting friends. Our
daily routine was the typically indulgent
beach-till-sunset, nap, invigorating shower,
dinner and bar-hopping. Now once upon a time,
ten days of this would simply have not been
sufficient. But this time around, it started
to feel like hard work. I recognised a
desperate craving for deep calm, more peace of
mind, and often found myself taking long walks
away from my group along the beach, gathering
pebbles and sea shells and perching myself
atop rocks that were like powerful dragons
sleeping in the surf, to take in the sight,
smell, taste and sound of the vast sea and
whisper my thoughts to the all-encompassing
horizon. Something I knew I could not
experience in the hectic city.
Then one member of my parea casually
mentioned over breakfast that he hadn't read a
book from cover-to-cover in what seemed like
an age, and finally I put two-and-two
together. An existence of work-all-day and
play-all-night can't do much for your
spiritual life or intellectual fitness. Thus,
immediately upon returning to the city I cut
back dramatically on the late nights and
embarked on a wild readathon. I still had the
characteristic night-time adrenaline rush but
now I was using it, not boozing it away.
music, moments of mediatation and books became
my comfort, my saviour, my friend, and
particularly those of the internationally
acclaimed "unput-downable,
can't-switch-off-the-light" variety.
But what are friends for if not to drag you
back into ugly patterns designed entirely to
make you face the greater challenges of life
and emerge with renewed "know thyself"
experience? Having rejected far too many
invitations in the past weeks, I opted to take
a few of them up before I ended up alone in
the world of the written word, rather than in
that of the spoken one. As the bar's blender
mixed my second margarita, my eyes almost
teared with the nostalgia of a mysteriously
neglected past, one of being young and full of
life in a city that was ancient - but equally
full of life. What had I been doing? Life is
short! There's so much to see, do, live, dance
to, laugh about! Fifteen books in a row in 30
days had clearly taken their toll, and I
understood that, as wonderful as that era had
been, I was again imbalanced because now as
fit as my mental muscles were, the rest of me
was slipping into a social coma.
How does one achieve the perfect balance in a
city of excesses? Everywhere you go, whatever
day of the week it may be, is a glowingly warm
invitation for hedonism. People of all ages,
of all professions, of all social or financial
status, unhesitatingly pop in and out of
restaurants, bars, clubs, movie-houses and
"events" daily. It's expected of you to
start your evening late and end your night
early (in the morning). Restaurants are like a
spaghetti-western ghost-town before
10pm
, and bars are simply dull before
11pm
. If you want to go out, an early night is not
a fun option unless you've got a very
individual or alternative sense of what "fun"
is.
Coffee is the answer. Show me an
Athens
office where employees are not sucking for the
life of them on a straw to inhale the last
bubble of caffeine and I'll point out it's not
Greek. The breaks for frappes or
endless cups of filter coffee or cappuccino
are the day-after recipe for stoic acceptance
that this is a place where late nights are a
way of life.
A French woman who reached the age of 110 and
made a CD release of a techno "hit" song (in
France, Jerry Lewis is a cultural icon),
revealed matter-of-factly that although she
smoked and took little exercise throughout her
life, the juicy secret for her longevity was
to ingest life daily as though it were the
most exotic of energy-giving fruits, to be
happy, to love and laugh and express oneself
impulsively.
Greeks live their life by this very principle.
Being the top-smoking country of
Europe
, the nationals here are convinced that their
exemplary (and in most cases, no longer
upheld) diet and joie de vivre spell a
long and healthy existence. But what we often
seem to (perhaps intentionally) forget is that
the admirable Frenchwoman lived the greatest
chunk of her life during a time when food, the
air, drinks and society as a whole weren't as
fatally toxic as they are today. Slugging it
out at the gym twice a week (or having the
legendary regular sex-life) to redeem oneself
of any other nasty habits such as terribly
irregular and low-quality eating and sleeping
patterns, emotional cataclysms, intellectual
lethargy and spiritual absenteeism just won't
cut it.
Balance is the key, or as our predecessors
said, "Pan metron ariston" (perfection
comes from measure). That's what I'm back to
trying to successfully acquire. If I'm
realistic, going out late with friends for
food, wine, great conversation and drinking is
not something I'm either willing or able to
opt out of. And neither is my thirst for
creative thought, action and
stimulation.
Waking up and making a quick mental list of
what I indulged in the night before sometimes
makes me break out in a cold sweat. Now this
is a start. When I divulge this relatively new
fact to people they often shrug at my
dramatics and chuckle at my fears, but I know
there's wisdom in being wary that everything,
like youth, like the night itself, must end,
and during dawn the raw light can be as
merciless as it can be hope-inspiringly
romantic.
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