Oblomov

Oblomovism is a word my Russian friends will know which seems to describe me more and more as I get older. I didn't know my condition had a name still less a following but knowing I am not alone is comforting.
Tonight at about 6.00 I decided to go out for a meal. I had been in all day and apart from a bit of gardening I hadn't left the homestead. No fuss I climb into the car and drive the short drive to the nearest restaurant. I pull up in the parking and having listened to a really interesting discussion on the car radio I continued listening. As I listened the thought entered my mind, what am I doing here, why don't I eat at home. Part of me had wanted to go out and mix a little with other people but now part of me thought, what a farce since apart from placing the order I would be as excluded from the conversations going on at other tables as if I weren't there, so what was the purpose. 


Oblomov was the central character in a story portraying the 'superfluous man', incapable of making decisions. Throughout the novel he rarely leaves his room or his bed always rationalising the reason why he doesn't have to do what his fancy suggests.
Today the common impetus for what we do throughout the day is driven by our make-up, our upbringing, and the norms of the society around us. Also much of what we do is driven by the latest fad.
Health and longevity for instance, for many a fixation, is characterised by what we eat and drink, how much we exercise, how long we sleep and how we stimulate our mental capacity. We are bombarded by facts and advice from all angles especially now with the Internet where everyone can have a piece of us so long as they have our profile.
Oblomov would have none of this, his ingenuity is not to have any ingenuity, he simplifies his existence by minimising it, he avoids the unexpected by not expecting much and so in his slothful way he avoids the pitfalls we are all heir to.