I have tried several approaches to writing. Most of it replicating someone else’s and the rest focusing on my failures. I don’t think it worked, don’t think it was supposed to anyway. How would it when I couldn’t even get past the idea of simply writing?
The struggle to keep up with my own perception of things gets scarily difficult as I sway from one thought to another. Without awareness. Without meaning. Which leaves me wondering how someone can be so far removed from reality that there comes a point when reality doesn’t even matter anymore? Because the world inside their head is better. Easier, perhaps?
Easier than having to deal with judgments; even if assuming those judgments must have been a task in itself.
Easier than realizing one’s priorities and acting on them.
Easier than accepting defeat for the millionth time and yet, moving on.
Most of the time, most of it all is just what lives in our mind. Our fears and anxieties, our success and failures, our opportunities and shortcomings, almost everything, is what it fabricates. Connecting the dots out of one hell of a puzzle, trying to make sense of the randomness. And just like stories, convinces us into believing it to be our reality. We are in control of the choices we make and the actions we take following that choice. We always have been. Well, at least more often than we realize.
I’ve been living in a narrative that sprouted out of my own convictions. To the point of driving myself near insanity. And yet I try every day, from scratch, to unbelieve it all. These ridiculous stories that only bring me down. That has only brought me down. One way or another. Every step of this life that I claimed to have lived, but not even slightly.
When you get out of a bad situation you’re almost convinced that nothing else can get any worse. You’re convinced that the world has an obligation towards your happiness. A little bit of empathy carefully mixed with a lot of acknowledgment of the horrid things you’ve been through. And then you realize you’re wrong, once again.
Nobody has an obligation to understand you. Nobody should feel entitled just because they’ve been through shitty things. The universe doesn’t care and neither should it. Each of us is just a tiny speck of dust. Let me put it more eloquently, just a tiny speck of stardust.
The easiest thing to do is not to do anything. We get caught up in life and forget about all the things we thought we would like to do someday at some point in time when everything else falls into place. The fact, however, as we all know it, is that things never really fall into place. At least not as per our liking. And those things that we thought we would like to do at some point, get pushed back in some corner of our very busy, very demanding lifestyle. Until that moment where doing nothing isn’t really what we want to be doing anymore. Because doing nothing leads to well, nothing.
We give in so much to sensory pleasures, to instant gratification, to a temporary state of fulfillment while losing grasp of the bigger picture. It’s not about making a lot of money or envying the people who make a lot of money. It’s not about traveling to as many countries as you can because everyone else is doing it. And it isn’t about doting on a dream job while you give yourself up to self-loathing and inertia as you whine about the things that you could and would never have, or how that’s completely unfair. It’s about how you make the most of what you have, of the possibilities that could be and would be despite everything else. If you let it.
You can’t hold your liquor because the anticipation of a greater high is always more appealing.
You can never quit smoking while giving in to your temporary cravings that will gradually subside only if you could wait long enough.
Because you want to reach the peak of all sensory pleasures. Because sometimes you enjoy the fall too. The switch between extremes. Because you don’t know moderation. You don’t do moderation. So you forever remain in the shackles of your own mind, in the bounds of your imagination. Because your imagination is better, better than the harsh actualities, better than the fact that your existence just like everyone else’s, doesn’t make much of a difference. And when I say you, I obviously mean me.
True change only takes place when we get out of the refuge. When we’re adamant about the things we want. When minor sensory pleasures can’t get in our way. When we stop trying to convince ourselves that procrastination is okay.
We have to do the hard work to reap the benefits no matter how daunting it may seem. Whether it’s simply taking charge of our health or taking the leap to start our own personal project. We are never going to get anywhere if we’re looking for excuses to blame our misfortunes on. We will only sink deeper down the hole that we have been digging for ourselves. Because eventually, we are the ones who make up the stories and the ones who believe in them too.