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  • If You Were In Love With You

    I often tell people to take care of themselves. And people often say thanks and return the sentiment. But more often than not, it’s simply a cordial exchange of sentiments and not much more. Today, for some reason, I found myself considering what it would actually entail if we applied it to ourselves. How would we take care of ourselves if we actually did it deliberately and not just as a matter of course?

    I think we would see ourselves very differently if we saw ourselves through the eyes of one that we would like to believe was truly in love with us. I think that we’re afraid to see ourselves that way because for some strange reason we seem to wait until someone else sees us in that light before we believe we’re deserving of such care and consideration. So I wondered then how I would treat myself if I were in love with me. Would I still be as reckless, or as oblivious, or would I want to indulge myself in every moment absorbing the beauty of life and the amazingly endless possibilities that await me?

    When we look at others with love and affection, we unconsciously project our dreams and aspirations on them, but would adapt such goals in line with the context of the happiness we desire for them, and not our own. We feign sacrifice in the belief that their happiness is more important than ours, while ignoring that our ability to make them happy is in fact what we desire affirmation of. Nonetheless, the pursuit of their happiness becomes our mission in life, and anything that compromises that goal brings out a side of us that often surprises even ourselves.

    So why then do we recede so easily in the face of the slightest obstacles that compromise the achievement of our own happiness that we need to give as a gift to ourselves? Why is it that we find it difficult to love ourselves if the love of another is absent? And so I wondered if you were truly in love with you, how would you treat yourself? How would you take care of yourself, and how reckless would you really be with your life?

    There seems to be an underlying conditioning that causes us to base our self-worth on the effort that others put in to contribute towards our happiness. This underlying conditioning is what drives us towards acts of self-sabotage whilst simultaneously giving us the reasons we need to justify why we don’t deserve better, at least not until someone else says we do.

    It’s all a charade. We invest in others more than we invest in ourselves because we need to believe that we’re significant only when we make a difference in someone else’s life, or when someone else needs us. And then also, that need must be overt, and more importantly, it must be a need that we want to fulfil or else it becomes a burden and not a blessing.  Even the most egotistical amongst us behaves anally narcissistic because of a fear of insignificance, not because of a true belief of self-worth. The strange thing is that if we made a definite effort to truly take care of ourselves, we’d probably attract the kind of person that would truly complement our lives rather than seeking out one that completes those areas that we lack the confidence to fulfil for ourselves. It’s that cycle of need that leads to emotional dependence rather than mutual affection and respect.

    The vicious circles of life plague us more than we will ever truly realise. Very few of them keep us grounded, but the vast majority keep us enslaved to our own insecurities. I’m not quite sure what the point of this post was, or if I even managed to make a meaningful point, but I suspect that somewhere in there lies a truth that will prove valuable at some point in my short life.

  • Filled to the Brim

    Given my recent overload of pressure and work at the office, I found myself facing the realisation of what determines my capacity to deal with what is thrown at me each day. I found myself having conversations in my head about how I’ve had enough, how I’m not willing to put up with the crap any longer, and how this is all pointless. However, I couldn’t fend off this nagging feeling that that was just me setting limitations for myself. I was determining when it was enough, often long before it really was.

    There is a physical limitation that is also breached at some point which results in physical fatigue or exhaustion that simply makes it near impossible to function effectively. But the more I considered all this, the more I realised that I was setting a limitation for myself long before I arrived at that point of true physical exhaustion. It reminded me of a study by Dr Tim Noakes that confirms that our brain tells us that we’re tired long before we reach a state of being physically fatigued even though we are capable of much more. That poses a significant challenge to the perspectives that I’ve held on to for so long. I always assumed that being able to read my physical symptoms would be the surest way to make informed decisions about my emotional well being, but it turns out that it’s not as straight forward as that.

    And so I contemplated my current frustration with the on-going seemingly endless cycle of pressure that we’ve been under for more than a month now, and each time I felt like indulging myself with the defeatist proclamation of ‘I’ve had enough’, I knew that I was still capable of dealing with more. Funny how my attitude determined when enough was enough rather than any real physical or emotional constraints I was faced with. Through this painful exercise of working with some of the most amazingly inept resources I’ve ever had to contend with in my career, it has become obvious that what I am capable of is far from what I am tolerant of.

    I guess the focus needs to shift towards improving my tolerance and therefore my abilities to navigate around issues that challenge my tolerance levels, rather than to constantly focus on subject matter competence and relationship building. However, I suspect that this is really just scratching the surface of a bigger issue that lies beneath, that being the issue of self-worth, confidence, and emotional intelligence, each of which have a myriad of supporting issues as well. Yet again, a vicious cycle emerges. What remains clear though is the fact that I determine my capacity long before anyone else is able to push me beyond my own limits. This cup is far from full, although at times it serves my purposes to present myself as having reached a threshold that is reasonable to be considered a limitation of wits and patience for any reasonable person.

    Even in that there is little comfort, because in so doing, I am reminded that I am merely comparing myself to the mediocre, rather than striving to exceed such levels of complacency.

  • They miss the point!

    I have a tendency to seek the potential in people and then proceed to encourage them towards realising that potential. I do this because I am naïve enough to believe that that is truly the aspiration of all of us. You know? That age old claim that says that we want others to believe in us because we’re so precious and we have so much to offer but we’re just waiting for the right opportunity and the right support and the right everything to come along before we can take that pathetic step forward to suggest that we actually have something to offer. It’s all bullshit.

    I’ve realised that the most gut wrenching and draining thing you could ever do is apply yourself towards the upliftment of others. Why? Simple. People are lazy by nature. They’re lazy and un apologetically uninspired because the few that pursue their passions are mocked and ridiculed for being different, while the rest are preoccupied with fitting in and being ridiculously unique just like everyone else.

    Yes, I am annoyed and disheartened. More so at the fact that there is always an overwhelming chorus of people chanting for change, but as soon as the choir breaks up, they’re the first to run home to enjoy their celebration of mediocrity while living life through the achievements of their icons that are nothing more than fictional tales they see in the gossip columns of the tabloids. The stench of puny thinking is repulsive. People look at things and immediately decide what is good enough to get past what they’re faced with, while just a small group will actually consider how can they take what they are faced with and turn it into something larger than life.

    I’ve spent the better part of my life trying to understand the human psyche because of a naïve notion that suggested that it is fear and nothing else that limits us in what we can achieve. I thought that by understanding those fears I would be able to help them see past that limitation and thereby unlock a beauty that would amaze even them. Of course understanding their fears was always only ever a result of me seeking to understand my own first. But they never get that. The default assumption is that if I am able to articulate what constricts them, then I must be free of it myself. I must have never experienced it hence my ability to seemingly trivialise what they feel.

    They just don’t get it. In all my efforts I’ve tried to demonstrate to them that they are innately capable of greater things without the need for a guide or mentor or other pillar of strength to lean on. However, I didn’t realise that in doing so, they automatically turned me into their crutch to achieve more. That is not nearly a compliment to me when considered within the context of the disappointment it spawns. Each time I believe they’ve reached a new level of confidence and capability, I’ve found that they were only acting out of compliance with what they deemed to be my expectations rather than because they had a sincere conviction in the values that I thought we shared.

    This is an unapologetically self-indulgent rant. It is a trickle of what needs to be vented in order to regain some balance in my perspective on life and people. I have trusted in the human goodness that is often celebrated, but each time it has resulted in the degradation of relations because the burden of expectation was greater than the willingness to be true. The impossibility of perfection should never be reason enough to dissuade us from its pursuit. Unfortunately, too often, we’re prone to believe that only icons or celebrated leaders are capable of such accomplishments, while conveniently forgetting that a human exists behind the façade that they have imposed on them.

  • A Humble Ego

    I noticed the disruptive force of popularity on me recently and I wondered if that may not be the root to all evil? My ego seems to be most stoked when I enjoy critical acclaim and recognition from others, but given a minute to reflect on the source of such acclaim, I’m quickly reminded about its fickleness. Not the acclaim, but the source. I’ve often contemplated whether or not maintaining a consciously humble disposition is possible, and this further convinces me that it’s not.

    The moment we’re aware of our humility, it plants seeds of arrogance because the knowledge of such a state being aspired to by many is reason to believe that we’re better than them for having acquired it. So the pursuit of humility remains elusive. I find myself once again debating each point I write and back tracking to remove my thoughts because it fails at the tests of logic. The logic that drove me to want to write this post suggests that if I remind myself of the basis on which people polarise towards the popular, it will deny me the reason to take comfort in their praise.

    We’re all weak. We’re all equally weak. What sets us apart is our ability to disguise those weaknesses as strengths. Where we’re weak in our need for recognition and affirmation, we’re strong in our ability to garner such attention. The avenues we choose to pursue as noble endeavours to garner that attention is what is displayed as a passion that others are drawn towards, all the while believing that we’re inspired, when in fact we’re satisfying our need to be recognised amongst those we admire.

    It seems life is an endless circle of vicious cycles. Even the cycle of life has its own viciousness that forces us to collaborate and collude in artful ways that distracts us from the cycle and convinces us that what we pursue is in fact purpose. I’m starting to wonder if it’s purpose at all that drives us, but instead a need to be distracted from reality? Like they say, a man sees the world too clearly from the mountain. It takes a brave man to embrace the reality that becomes evident in such a moment, while the rest of us paint pretexts and contexts that serve to convince us that we are in fact significant.

    Everything that I witness around me points to the innate desire to be significant. Even the most ascetic amongst us seeks the significance in the eyes of the one they adore or worship, while those that surrender the goal of acquiring such significance are prone to self destruct, sometimes completely. The effort to reach into their soul and convince them that their significance directly inspires our own becomes ever more daunting because if we fail to convince them, we risk stepping on the same slippery slope of self abasement from which we attempted to rescue them. Another vicious cycle.

    I guess the true reality is that the ego is only as arrogant as the observer. The one who witnesses the arrogance in others without seeing their weaknesses that underlie such repugnant behaviour are in fact the ones that are least in touch with their own weaknesses, or their own insecurities. When we believe that we’re better than that, we look condescendingly on those who are arrogant, but the moment we realise the collective weakness we share that gives rise to such outward displays of fear, we find ourselves compelled to view them with empathy instead.

  • There isn’t another me

    I walk through life observing the struggles of others and I often find myself trying to draw parallels between their struggles and my own. There are times when those parallels strike really close to home and for a fleeting moment I feel as if I’m not alone. But it’s only ever a fleeting moment. My weakness drives me to seek comfort in being understood, but my conscience deprives me of that comfort knowing that such understanding will never be forthcoming. It’s hard to understand someone who has yet to understand themselves.

    Sometimes, I watch movies or read stories that celebrate the lives of great leaders that rose from the masses, not those born into power, and I see traits in them that I believe I have as well. But the common aspect of their lives has always been that despite being surrounded by people that drew strength from them, they were alone when it mattered most. They were alone when they looked around to see who else truly appreciated the purpose of their passion for justice, or equality, or whatever other noble ideal they were pursuing, and despite having adoring fans and loved ones around, when they sat in the dark and reflected on their life, there was no one around that could truly appreciate the gravity of how much energy and tenacity it took to follow the path that they did, especially when everyone around them thought they were being naive.

    Perhaps the commonality of traits is not as prominent as I would like to believe it is, but that feeling of singular awareness to what it is that plagues me has never, and will never be shared by anyone else. The realisation of this painful fact often eludes me when I’m distracted by the brief moments of superficial acceptance and popularity that others project when they wish to be party to something I’ve been bold (read ‘stupid’) enough to be vocal about. But just as soon it passes by and the fall from inclusion reduces me to the incomplete being that I was just a moment before. It seems that communal life is a collection of such experiences sewn together by fate. Those who continue to ride the wave of opportunism wherever it may lead them seldom find reason to reflect on the emptiness beneath the waterline, while those that choose to be painfully aware of the superficial nature of such collusion remain isolated even in the embrace of a nation. The ones that don’t stop to reflect are caught up in the false reality of acceptance and appreciation, not realising that it is garnered from those that are equally oblivious and therefore irrelevant. But it fills the void and makes life bearable, and because we know how difficult life can be when grounded in reality, we not only celebrate such escapism, we aspire to it.

    My obstinacy denies me such an indulgence. So I continue faltering between naivety and reality, one minute hoping that I will find a kindred spirit that truly relates, and the next realising that this one true impossibility will always triumph over my optimism. So perhaps, without realising it, I’ve acquired a taste for indulging myself half heartedly in the ephemeral embrace of society, while never forgetting that the day when I will be presented with the scroll of my life, I will stand alone. I often don’t do justice to the good that I am capable of, but I do my best not to do harm instead. However, there are times when those around me require that I extend myself in the good that is possible, and my restraint in such moments is often interpreted as deliberate harm instead.

    Seeking commonality between my life and the life of those that struggled and triumphed before me is nothing more than an indulgence in vanity. My need for such affiliation is to pacify the weakness of character that prevents me from knowing myself, and in turn, from others ever knowing me.

  • 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.

  • Distracted by Life

    Looking at the insecurity that lurks behind the eyes of the arrogant ones that I engage with on a daily basis is all that makes them tolerable, and keeps me sufficiently pacified in not wanting to expose their feeble-mindedness for what it is. The realisation of understanding the fears of another makes it very difficult to judge them harshly, or to treat them cruelly, no matter how well deserved it may be, unless of course my own fears and insecurities rise above theirs at which point being brutal comes naturally.

    But there is a more painful underlying reality that weighs me down and it’s difficult to grasp the true nature of it. I feel compelled to be patient whilst simultaneously feeling aggravated by the lack of action that such patience demands. Being caught between the need for restraint and the need for instant gratification is entirely uncomfortable. Stringing together any meaningful thought patterns becomes a challenge in itself given my nature. One of my greatest fears has always been stagnation of spirit. Seeing death around every turn, and sometimes in every breath, while knowing that I’ve not applied myself nearly as effectively as I know I am capable of. With this in mind, seeing the vacant stares from behind the arrogant facades only riles me up further, driving me to want to grab by the collar every walking dead that pretends to be more than they are while entirely wasting their life by assuming a posture that wins hollow acclaim from strangers that add almost no value in their lives other than the comfort of brief acceptance for the moment that they were beheld by such superficially guided standards.

    A rant, a rant, is all this seems to amount to, although I feel the angst in my chest driving me to want to articulate something that I believe is important but that I’m struggling to impart. Simply stated, I think people are distracted by bullshit. We’re so misguided by tokenism that we fail to realise how much we pursue that which is contrived, rather than the wisdom that should be derived.

    This is barely making sense to me even. Perhaps, after all, it is a reflection of my mind’s craziness relative to the embrace that I enjoy from the people around me. An embrace of common views and values that are rarely celebrated. That embrace of spirit or of being that is set aside in favour of the indulgence of practical benefits. Life is distracted in that way. We’re distracted by the practical reality beyond just what is practically needed, quickly slipping into the daze that drives us to believe that such a practical need is in fact the objective of our existence.

    I seem to be discussing the inevitability of death more often these days, with the constant reminder that it is an inevitable destination which therefore makes no sense to be feared, but should rather be embraced. The time spent fearing it results in a paralysis of thought and action, although some would argue that it in fact spurs such thought and action. The idealist in me drives me to believe that action resulting from fear is insincere, since without the repercussion being known, the action would lose its purpose, and therefore by default negates its value. Maybe not. Perhaps the realisation should be that acting with impunity in the face of such an undeniable reality is worse than acting out of fear, although the sincerity of the former would be far more admirable than that of the latter.

    But such idealisms hold little appeal for people still distracted by the practical reality of life. I naively believe that if we focus on the legacy of a life well lived, without courting the accolades of such a legacy, death will automatically be a welcomed destination. If our choice of spirituality, religion, or values that we subscribe to brings us balance and harmony with those around us as well as the world that is somewhat detached from us, then perhaps in pursuing such a balance without the constant fear of its repercussions on what is to take place beyond life, we may find that we will live a life of meaning and purpose, whilst also fulfilling the entry criteria for a death that heralds comfort and peace.

    It’s therefore ironical that in our pursue for peace, we tend to wreak the most destruction.

  • Inspired by Death

    When faced with the realisation of the finite nature of time, and by extension, life, it seems superfluous to be in search of inspiration to do that which I feel passionate about. Of all the day dreams and fairy tales that dot my imagination from my earliest memories, wanting to change the world was almost always a consistent theme, sometimes on a small scale, and at times in a much bolder way.

    I lack the patience to simply outgrow things because that implies a natural evolution of my being rather than an intelligent effort. Waiting for situations to change simply because with the passage of time it is likely to change is about as inspiring and meaningful as watching paint dry. Worse still, it holds the same sense of fulfillment as the act of counting the grains of sand in the desert. The remembrance of both the inevitability of death as well as the very finite limit it sets on our lives, often without warning, should be enough to spur me into action against every thought that I conceive without the need for any other motivator or source of inspiration. But it doesn’t. At least not as often as it should.

    The main reason I’ve always receded was because I saw no reason to proceed. An obvious statement with not so obvious implications. While the thought of death may spur me into action, it rarely has the same effect on those around me which frustrates me. That frustration is more reflective of my self-criticism of not being able to convey the urgency of life to those around me, and less about my contempt for their waste of life. So my choice to recede is because in the face of an unreceptive audience, any performance no matter how brilliant, is futile. So just as we need receptive hearts to inspire us to want to share a message, the absence thereof causes the words to dissipate into the lethargy around us.

    I sometimes grow impatient and aggressive when I’ve exhausted all reasonable measures to get through to someone that is blatantly destructive or oblivious to how they’re undermining their own potential, but once that final expression of exasperation is spent, the acceptance of it all descends and I move on to focus on more meaningful endeavours. Anything that holds the promise of fulfilment, not necessarily reward, is enough to engage my senses and pique my interest.

    I’ve often been accused of being obsessive with taunts of OCD hurled at me on many occasions, often cloaked as a joke. But my obsession is one that this world could use more of. My obsession is that I wish to leave every situation or every place in a better state than it was before I touched it. The net effect of my life must be more than just an accumulation of comforts and wealth, or a fulfillment of responsibility. It must extend to the upliftment of those around me, including myself.

    For this reason death inspires me. It inspires me because with each skill that I acquire, I feel a compelling need to use it to benefit another before the breath is removed from me and the skill is wasted. It will be wasted if it was neither used to benefit others, nor passed on as a gift to empower another. So before death reaches me, I hope to expend myself in ways that will leave as little wastage as possible for death to claim.