my thoughts are my biggest enemy
maybe the hyperfixation of growth is what keeps us from growing; maybe it’s time to stop being our toughest punisher
As I so meticulously try to craft my identity, my mind hurts; as I so voraciously seek productivity, my head throbs; as I so critically replay past conversations in my head, a million cheeky little devilheads pound from the inside of my skull, thriving on my suffering.
My consistent and desperate search for control over my life digs at me from inside, anxiety surging through me the moment I feel myself slacking in any way. The constant ticking of the clock at the back of my mind, as I feel the shadow of time creeping up on me; be it minutes, hours, days, months, years. I tell myself, I’m merely a one-year-old adult, but it just feels like I’m wasting my golden years away: My twenties slipping by, even though I have not hit the big two. I tell myself, I need to do more, achieve more; but that somehow makes me do less, achieve less.
Writing used to be my form of release, but the idea of commercialising and capitalising everything makes writing seem procedural for me. As my heart yearns to write, my mind immediately draws up writing plans for every simple idea I have; it seems like every phrase I pen down must be coherent, every word well-thought through. As I seek to achieve more and more, passion becomes a goal, hobbies become a responsibility.
Not doing more feels like a crime, yet the thought of carrying any more makes my brain writhe in pain. When will I ever let myself take a break without beating myself up for it? When will I ever give myself some grace?
They say to grow means to focus on yourself, but honestly I’m exhausted of thinking about myself lately; the notion of constantly thinking about yourself just seems utterly self-centred as a whole, doesn’t it? Oh, the irony!
Maybe it’s not all about me. As I stare out into the vastness of the world, I think to myself that maybe life should not be that deep. Maybe the hyperfixation on growth is what keeps us from growing. No one scrutinises us harder than ourselves. It’s time to stop being our toughest punisher.
As an elder who easily creates when no one is listening, and is equally curious by the crap of performance our social order has changed to.
there seems to be a fine well of sifted dust that we must locate in our pile of boulders. We stare at the pile until our movement out of thought compels us.
Examining the rocks, one by one until the pile is suddenly gone. Sitting in the middle, beautiful granite rocks all around us.
Only then, we see the detritus left-here in the center with us-and grab our sieve. And sift.
The fine dust is golden and shiny and grains so small we can actually eat it, nourishing us along the way.
Keep moving the boulders. The fine dust is always there, feeding us.
Its like the move we progress the easier it is to miss out what makes the progression progress... therefore we go backwards. Your blog's so well written. Love this!