Category: Life

  • In Search of Me

    Clearing out the clutter that had accumulated for more than ten years is a tiresome process. There is an ideal way to approach it, which if followed,  could be relatively painless. It simply requires a clear view of what you have,  an understanding of what you need to keep,  and a very good idea of what you want to do with it all. That is,  what needs to be discarded,  what needs to be saved,  and what would be worth repurposing. Reality dictates that chances are great we won’t have that clear view of what is there,  meaning we’ll often have surprising moments of ‘oh! That’s where it was!’ and other moments of ‘damn,  I didn’t need that reminder right now’.

    You guessed it. Life. It echoes in everything around us,  but very distinctly in cleaning house. There are moments when I find it difficult to remember who I am or what drives me to be me. In those moments I look around and struggle to focus on anything in particular. I become reactive rather than deliberate,  but habits formed over the years camouflage that void quite well. At moments like those I stop and reflect on where I’m at in my life and if there is still any semblance of familiarity with the path I had hoped to travel so many years before.

    Do I still have a higher calling that I hope to serve,  or am I just ticking boxes? As I work through the clutter in my mind I find it increasingly difficult to decide what needs to be kept and nurtured versus what should be discarded to create capacity for more fulfilling endeavours. It’s not as simple as it used to be. I can’t spurn the martyr or ridicule the complacent as easily as I did before. What used to be a consideration for me only is now a consideration of more than me. And so the landscape is littered with little troves, not necessarily treasurable, that hide important little details waiting to derail my efforts just as I gather momentum in my surge forward.

    Eventually the sorting and the methodical approach grows weary. The frustration rises with each realisation that the more time spent rediscovering or reordering myself is time that could have been spent living instead. There is a lot to do,  goals to accomplish,  and challenges to overcome. But here I am sorting through clutter in the hope that it will bring much needed clarity so that I can pursue those goals and challenges with a renewed passion. Eventually I do the equivalent of what my spring cleaning demanded. Compartmentalise. Making a decision on every item I come across at the time that I come across it is not yielding the results I need as fast as I need it. So instead,  I start boxing things into broad repositories of potential.

    The easiest decisions I make immediately. That which is inconsequential I discard immediately. But too many have amazing ‘what if’ moments attached to them. Those are the ones that trip me up. So I set them aside  and categorise them so that if nothing else,  I know where to find that part of me.

    The process is slow and tedious,  and I’m constantly reminding myself of the distractions along the way that created this clutter to begin with. Each moment of mindlessness exacted a cost of intense reflection. Again,  thoughts of life wasting away while I am reprocessing past moments in order to be more decisive in future ones. It’s a grudge purchase of note. The desire to want to proceed but knowing that a moment of recess is demanded instead. It’s a cycle that never ends. It only ever recedes for a few moments before availing itself again,  demanding a response even when we are confident that such reflection is not needed.

    The only comfort I can offer myself is that I accept that given what I knew then,  I would not have taken a different path. Rebuking myself for not knowing better was always nothing more than a pathetic attempt to feel self loathing in order to validate my need to feel like I deserved nothing better. I could never convince myself of that lie. Despite the grave and often colourful mistakes of my past, I know without doubt that I only deserve as much as I invest in the moment. The greater that investment, the sweeter the outcome, even if it does not yield the fruit that I may have hoped for. But the greater the investment, the less likely the chances that I will find myself one day reprocessing it in order to clear the clutter before being able to continue living.

    The apparent incoherence of this post is an accurate reflection of my trains of thought as I work through the clutter around me. My mind has never, and probably will never be free of noise, and so my only saving grace is to find a way to be functional in spite of it.

  • Undefined

    The events of my life have confirmed the sometimes unpleasant truth that I am anomalous by nature. It is not an active choice that I made, nor a deliberate rebellion against those I view as fickle and uninspiring. Instead, it is a natural disposition that I have learnt to embrace. Unlike most other personal dispositions that we may grow to embrace, this one does not yield greater acceptance by society. In fact, it further entrenches the divide between the known and predictable, and the unknown and anomalous.

    By design, the weak seek security and predictability. It is a necessary constraint that we willingly establish for ourselves in order to feel competent. Yes, competent. The less unknown variables, the less skill we need to navigate our way through unknown territory. The more we appear to be in control, the more competent we feel, and the greater our self-esteem, albeit based on a fickle truth. It is for this reason that we pursue a life of definition.

    Definition dictates boundaries and a need for compliance. In the absence of compliance we automatically feel empowered to act or respond to those that do not toe the line. By extension, we compartmentalise and label in order to establish predictability, because with predictability comes control, and with control comes confidence, if not arrogance. It is therefore no surprise that I find myself at odds with such rigid structures and practices that feed the establishments that stifle us.

    Being anomalous is therefore the proverbial red flag to the bull that is society. Society is shaped by the rebels, but sustained by the meek. It requires that the majority comply in order to remain functional, failing which anarchy will follow. But such anarchy is only inevitable if the emphasis on definition remains the norm. What if we had a society where everyone was anomalous? It would automatically dictate that everyone would be more skilled in the art of unpredictability, meaning that each encounter will result in a richer experience. rather than a predictable outcome.

    Predictability will be limited only to that which was experienced before, but would no longer be employed to ensure comfort and composure. In fact, if society were to be less predictable and more anomalous, routine would become the enemy, and growth would be stifled (as it already is) under rigid social norms. The greatest challenge then of being anomalous is to find the means to express yourself to an audience that has a frame of reference that denies your existence by design. At face value, we may then be inclined to adapt our approach to avoid such rejection. We will therefore find ways to fit in with the system that has been established to ensure compliance with the greater inclination, rather than the lesser inspiration.

    Inspiration is what the anomalous seek. To be inspired to act rather than to act out of obligation. To find that inspiration in the smile of a stranger, or better yet, in the smile of the eyes of a kindred spirit. The euphoria that accompanies such an existence will steel any sincere soul against surrendering in favour of acceptance, because acceptance, especially in totality, is akin to incarceration. When we act out of obligation or compulsion, we rarely realise the benefits from the endeavour, whereas acting out of conviction that is inspired by purpose or belief in a greater boon establishes a reward system that is independent of people, of society, of the fickleness that drives the masses.

    To therefore remain undefined is a blessing. It allows for the fluidity of spontaneity to embellish the relationship and the life experience, while being spared the decay of compliance. By extension, an undefined relationship holds the promise of greater depth and breadth than one that fills the pages of romance novels. Perhaps, like with most things, there is a balance. Perhaps that balance also hints of hypocrisy, but it’s a hypocrisy that is pervasive, and therefore embraced. In our consumption from society, compliance is required, but in our contribution, being anomalous will yield more growth and value than blind following ever will.

  • Swimming Upstream

    It’s the counter-intuitiveness of that statement that resonates with my experiences in life, in general. Similar to the salmon, it seems to be driven by the belief that at the top of that stream lies fulfilment and purpose. But pushing against the tide is tiresome.

    Purpose doesn’t always bring fulfilment. It’s a stark reality that dawned on me today when I considered the potential outcome of my life if I continue to be driven by the principles and values that I subscribe to now. It is generally accepted that those that change the world are rarely part of the crowd because it stands to reason that to be able to determine what the cause of the chaos in the crowd is, one would have to extract themselves from those surrounds in order to obtain a clearer view. But people don’t like it when you have a clear view of their shortcomings or their fears. It makes them vulnerable, and in the absence of trust, that vulnerability becomes something that either needs to be disguised cleverly, or defended fiercely.

    I usually find myself on the receiving end of the latter, and it is this realisation that has caused me to contemplate whether or not I will achieve a sense of fulfilment before the end of my time. I’m convinced that I won’t. Explaining or rationalising this is proving difficult.

    I see myself on the outside looking in surrounded by people that are more intent on maintaining the peace than dealing with the rot, but simultaneously lamenting the gravity of life in those moments when the stench of that rot permeates their idyllic make-believe world. Rather than deal with the rot, we invest in disguises to convince us that it’s either not so bad, or that it doesn’t even exist. I’m the fool that comes along, scoops up a handful of that decaying matter, and brandishes it about in people’s faces until they acknowledge that their disguises are bullshit and that their supposed progress is in fact a lie.

    People tend to despise the one that disrupts their slumber but instead embraces the one that sings them the lullaby. It’s ironic then that the success that they later achieve as a result of being stirred from their stupor is celebrated with the one that made their sleep as peaceful as possible, instead of appreciating the one that unsettled their existence. Those that disrupt force us to break the inane cycles that trap us into the ruts of our lives. Unfortunately too many are comfortable despising the rut while defending it fiercely, believing that they’re protecting themselves while flirting with dreams that only they know exists.

    Dreams of greatness, of purpose, and of celebration. They dream of being celebrated for amazing contributions, but they rarely if ever share that dream with others because of the fear of ridicule or failure. They’re the ones that swim in the calm waters away from the rapids. They’re the ones that are convinced that maintaining the order and revering the system is what is best for society, while forgetting that the system that they revere was in fact established by those they despise.

    Swimming upstream is an exercise in futility laced with a hint of greatness, but it’s that greatness that drives those that are born restless. Those that spurn complacency and mediocrity. It’s not the greatness associated with recognition or affirmation, because that is merely slavery embellished with hollow accolades. It is the greatness that is felt with the knowledge that there are lives that have been nudged at just the right time to get a timid soul to change course from one that was entrenched in pain and servitude, to one that offered fulfilment and mastery.

     

  • Personal Space

    The concept of personal space is an interesting one. We’re social beings by nature. We have an innate need to be appreciated and acknowledged for our personal contribution or expression in everything. We insist on withdrawing into a personal space when we are convinced that such appreciation or acknowledgement will be replaced by ridicule or rejection. I can’t imagine why anyone would prefer to recede if they have the opportunity to bask in the affection and attention of those that appreciate them endearingly. So it stands to reason that such withdrawal must be motivated by the absence of such an embrace.

    It’s a distraction, like so many others that we’re surrounded with. The fear of rejection is established so early in life that we respond from a position of habit without realising that it goes against our innate nature. Our ability to be absorbed or immersed into the being of another underlies our sense of belonging. The less we feel like we belong, the more likely we will be to prefer our own company to the company of others. For this same reason we insist on establishing a personal space that excludes all others, because it also protects us from criticism or rejection about those things that we feel most passionately vulnerable about. Chances are, we include total strangers in those spaces through acquiring what we want, or indulging what we need provided they have no social or emotional attachment to us.

    No wonder then that we are more inclined to social networking than social interaction. Face-to-face interactions are fast giving way to impersonal ones. It’s not because of convenience or constraints, but because it’s safer than being there in person. It’s easier to hide our vulnerabilities through a few choice words as a response, than it is to retract an involuntary facial expression. So it makes sense that we are more likely to express ourselves more willingly online with limited traceability to who we are, because to withdraw without repercussions or accountability is so much easier.

    Personal space therefore appears to be a contradiction in terms because the need for it signifies an imbalance that makes it a necessity. When faced with overwhelming odds in one area of our lives, we seek balance in another. Most often, that space we can pursue such balance is in the absence of others, since it is the very presence of others that gave rise to the imbalance to begin with. The easy answer is to choose more carefully who you surround yourself with. The reality though is that there are repercussions of excluding the detrimental elements that may outweigh the benefits of righting that balance. Establishing your personal space to recover from that imbalance, even if just for a moment, therefore appears to be a necessary compromise that most are willing to make.

     

  • Apparently, it’s my birthday…

    Everyone knows my disdain for such an occasion, yet most still find reason to wish me for it. I’m not sure if that is a testament to their sincerity, or do they just like taunting me. In fact, the latter is probably entirely called for given how often I enjoy taking digs at others about literally anything and everything. My only contention is that this should not be limited to a single day in the year. We forget to celebrate life when we celebrate occasions, but I’ve repeated this so many times over the years that it’s almost starting to sound clichéd to me.

    So if you must, and I say that with absolute affection, then celebrate the advent of the beginning of my torment by meaningfully engaging with me about the things that I am passionate about. Read through my blog and challenge my ideas. Test the veracity of the logic that I proclaim and force me to consider a fresh perspective. Give me a reason to believe that what I am passionate about contributing is in fact a meaningful contribution, and if it’s not, then show me the kindness of making me aware of it so that I may redirect my energies towards that which is more valuable, rather than continuing to ramble about inane philosophical ideals that merely tickle our curiosity but sways none towards a wholesome existence.

    The prompted gift is laced with doubt, but the unexpected gift is smothered in sincerity. Birthdays and other similar occasions that are intended to celebrate our appreciation for those around us simply distract us from their worth the rest of the year. I want to be remembered in a fleeting moment when something that touches you reminds you of me because I may have contributed to that moment of beauty in a way that I might not be aware of. I want to be remembered because when you made that tough decision, you recalled a perspective that I shared with you which empowered you to rise above your struggles and instead saw the opportunity for growth and fulfiment which made my failure meaningful rather than futile.

    Don’t remember me because the occasion calls for it, remember me because my memory calls for an occasion to be celebrated. I don’t have the promise of eternal life, and you don’t have the promise of eternal time to reciprocate everything that you’re grateful for. So waiting for that moment that is prompted, or waiting for the perfect time, or the perfect gift only depletes that which you promised yourself you would celebrate by not taking it for granted. Life. It’s what happens when we’re waiting for it to happen. It is the journey, not the destination, nor the way points. It is every breath you take, not every breath that is taken from you when the occasion calls for it. The way points are milestones towards death. The way points are our moments of pause when we believe predetermined occasions are a celebration of life. The way points caresses our inclination towards procrastination because we convince ourselves that putting something off until a future date that is predetermined by others is in fact progress and not procrastination.

    Celebrate life with me, and let birthdays be the silent death of mediocrity and distraction, while every breath inspires every step, and every step is forward even if preceded by a fall. Wait for tomorrow only if today is not possible, not because tomorrow is a tag on your calendar.

  • The Purge

    Today was one of those days when I needed to be purged of everything vile that I am compelled to deal with. It was a day in which I was reminded of the stench of betrayal, the slithery undertones of ingratitude, and the arrogance of authority. But in between all this I was faced with the feeble nature of those that are so meek in their convictions that they lose themselves in their need for inclusion amongst those they profess to despise.

    Nothing was purged. Instead, I found myself recollecting thoughts from an earlier time in my life when I realised that what doesn’t kill you only makes you more brittle. I grew a little more brittle today. The intolerance I have towards the unethical was tested again, but in the absence of being financially independent, I found myself restraining my responses rather than being true to my convictions.

    Perhaps a touch of hypocrisy is needed when dealing with hypocrites. Perhaps that notion of hypocrisy is needed to provide some solace from the reality that my faith faltered for long enough to make me a bitch of the system. The very same system that makes academics into sages, and sages into fools, or optional counsel at best. I have much venom in me right now and unless I purge myself of it, I know that it will take its toll. First in physical ailments, but more importantly, in unjustified rage at a system that enslaves while it pretends to be liberating.

    If ever there was a time when good appeared as evil and evil as good, this would be it. Living with conviction is truly like juggling hot coals in my hands. There is no one to step up to take the coals off my hands, but the intensity of the heat is all that I can relate to and so I hold on to it affectionately. It’s all that holds any meaning or value any longer. Insincerity and hypocrisy bear a coldness that threatens to deny me any sense of peace or composure. I find an odd sense of peace in knowing that I didn’t back down in the face of a bully.

    But bullies are so discreet these days. They pretend to be protecting the weak, while they shy away from challenging the strong. Their delegated authority is all that commands any respect or acknowledgement, but until that is removed from the equation, they will hold an air of superiority that only the foolhardy will question. The system has more bitches than it has purpose or beneficiaries. Each rung of the ladder is acquired only through the surrender of a due proportion of your soul.

    Contentment eludes me. Sanity does too. So does the needed purge. I remain unfulfilled and abandoned by so much of this world’s attractions. I’m fortunate. Anything more and I would probably be as complacent and distracted by the trinkets as the masses of hypocrites that pretend to be victims to the system that they sustain. I’m flirting with arrogance, but again I’m reminded of an earlier realisation. If an arrogant one is not treated with arrogance, how will they ever taste the sweetness of humility?

    Of course the mere suggestion of humility implies arrogance, so perhaps humility eludes me too. Perhaps I am as culpable for the system of whores that I so despise, but I pretend to be an unwilling participant that is a victim of circumstance. We’re all better than the ones we despise, aren’t we?

     

  • The Distraction

    There are apparently books written about how to form habits, how to break habits, how to do things smarter, and so on, but I have yet to see anyone connect the dots between habits, efficiency, and life. Not just life as in a pleasant or interesting existence, but life as in the limited time we have on this earth. That clock that starts counting down from it’s first tick to your last breath. That’s the life that we need to connect to these habits that we unwittingly adopt in our lives as we try to figure things out.

    Some consciously form habits out of mundane tasks to reduce the mundanity, while others do so out of compulsion in their desire for order or routine, or more accurately, predictability. Neither appeals to me. For me, my habits are constantly evolving because doing the same thing in the same way for any extended period of time gnaws at my sub-conscious forcing me to wonder if I’m beginning to stagnate or not. For me, establishing routine or forming a habit lasts only as long as it takes me to find an easier or less complicated way to do it. In other words, I’m lazy.

    I’m too lazy to do in five steps what I can do in two steps. This is what I believe drives me to want to create order out of chaos, or to want to introduce efficiencies even in places where good enough is good enough. While it is tiring at times to find myself constantly distracted by wasteful efforts, I’ve recently realised that the more efficiency I create in the unavoidable mundane activities, the more life I have available for growth, or experiencing new indulgences, and so much more. And that is the connection that I believe we miss.

    We miss the point of how much life we’re wasting while taking the time and effort to do in five steps what could be done in two. Sure, if  there are other joys or benefits obtained from the long winded approach while achieving the outcome, then find six steps to do something that would take two. I guess I do that when I go on holiday. I’d much rather take the scenic route than to get there as quickly as possible. However, the peace and tranquility, and the beauty that I am able to enjoy when I take that scenic route is what makes my appreciation of the destination that much more enduring.

    So perhaps that is really the point that I’ve been trying to articulate. I guess it ties in with being purposeful in everything that you do. If there is no purpose, then you’re on auto-pilot and you may as well cash in your chips instead of stealing oxygen that could be put to better use by someone else. Of course such a callous view is easily dismissed at the thought of your mundane routine providing others with comfort in the predictability that you bring into their lives. The sceptic in me screams blue murder at the thought of it because I’m loathe to believe that such predictability is truly comforting. It’s limiting, maybe assuring, or possibly even remotely encouraging or aspirational, but certainly not inspiring. Damn, I guess even that point could be dismissed by the fact that sometimes the negative outlooks of others inspire us to be the opposite.

    So I guess we are the vicious cycle, aren’t we? Every annoying habit, every curious quirk, and every inspired moment feeds the cycle that feeds itself, and in turn feeds our curiosity or complacency. That’s all good at a macro level, but hardly encouraging at an individual level because it implies that the stagnation of some is necessary to inspire others. I would hate to realise later in life that my inspiration stemmed from those that achieved too little rather than from those that achieved much. I would therefore rather be distracted by the aspirational sights rather than the depressing ones.

    Alas, it seems that even in contemplating these distractions I have been distracted from the point of this post to begin with. The point I set out to make is simply this. If we pursue life aggressively in the desire to want to live as much of it as possible, we’ll probably find ourselves reducing the effort and energy expensed against the necessary, while our pursuit of efficiency and the elimination of redundancy in everything we do will become the focus of our life which in turn will spawn benefits for those around us in ways we never considered. Unfortunately, there is a negative stigma associated with a restless soul because the complacent and lethargic nature of the masses finds itself at odds with such an existence.

    With that in mind, I choose to be anomalous. I choose to be the anomaly that distracts others enough to make them question what may be wrong with me, which inevitably leads to them contemplating what is truly right with them. (This post still seems to fail at making a meaningful point.)

  • Elusive

    Indulgence in distractions is a worldly pastime because it’s desperately needed. Reality, for the aware, will always be excruciatingly burdensome. Despite my most enthusiastic efforts to convince myself that the reality behind the burdens is in fact the truth, and that the burdens are in fact the distractions, I keep finding myself sobered up by the reality that I’m wrong.

    Living idealistically while trying to remain grounded in reality is exhausting. Being the optimist around a bunch of defeatists is exhausting. People are exhausting. And so is life. There is a natural inclination for people to employ their innate ability of osmosis to drain the life blood out of those that they polarise towards in times of trouble, while reciprocating with nothing more than a meaningless token gesture or a materialistic gift. Most people live on credit, but they’re so focused on their material debts that they fail to realise that their contribution towards the upliftment of those around them falls far short of what they take, which leaves the real debt unsettled.

    The good life, in this world, seems to be acquired when our volume of distractions exceed the reality of our responsibility. It’s no wonder then that the sense of fulfilment or completeness that we all seek is so elusive. That’s the thing with distractions. If you focus on sustaining them for long enough they begin to appear as essentials, while the truth that they were used to dumb down assumes the status of an unrealistic expectation. I guess that makes reality elusive as well.

    It’s not surprising then that life is as complicated as it appears to be. But in that there is a rub as well. If the majority is convinced that this life of distractions is in fact reality, the minority that realise the fallacy of it all will find themselves at odds with the prevailing logic, which regardless of its flaws, will significantly influence the level of peace and harmony experienced by the grounded ones. In that lies the gravest choice because the realisation of something can never be undone. We can never un-realise a truth that we subscribe to. The only way to truly change our grasp on reality would be to find meaningful evidence that convinces us that such a realisation was wrong to begin with, or perhaps insufficiently informed.

    In the absence of finding such relief, the burden of reality as we perceive it to be will never subside even if we successfully distract ourselves from it for most of our lives. I believe that the moment of clarity we experience before death finally overcomes us will be the moment when all distractions will finally be rendered impotent and the reality of our lives, our excuses, and our failings will suddenly grip our souls. That final wretched embrace will leave us yearning for the life that we always wished was over while romanticising death, but the romance of death will give way to the unalterable reality of its finality. Such finality will not spawn peace or comfort for the soul that was distracted during their life.

    I am convinced that there is an important point in all this rambling, although even that seems to elude me right now. Perhaps it’s the fact that my struggle has always been pitted in striking a balance between encouraging the wholesome balance of reality and harmony while finding it necessary to spurn the actions of those that detract from such a goal. One of my death bed regrets will inevitably be my inability to demonstrate the sincerity and intention behind my actions, which is easily hidden by my intolerance for obliviousness.