Blog

  • 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.

  • When Love Fades

    That first look, when eyes meet, minds align, that moment when you find yourself appreciating a random moment of beauty with a total stranger. In that moment your hearts connect, a yearning of a thousand years collides and it prompts a moment of unexpected euphoria that leaves your knees in search of support, and your mouth agape with wonder. What follows is usually an indulgence of each other, sometimes only intellectually, but often physically as well. In those moments perfection was not sought. Perfection was not even a conscious consideration because the feeling inside made all such standards irrelevant. The unsightly spots, the skin blemishes, the dishevelled hair, or the mismatched clothing all faded from view because that desire of a thousand years was suddenly fulfilled. It didn’t leave enough energy to recede to a safe distance in order to measure what we were presented with. We allowed ourselves to connect, because that connection was always infinitely more important than the lustful satisfaction of two perfectly toned bodies embracing. But then it fades, seemingly for no reason.

    That feeling of love, infatuation, amazement, wonder, awe and all those other beautiful sensations don’t just disappear as a natural cycle. Look at any old couple that have kept the love alive in their relationship and you’ll see that it simply is not true. The wisdom of love lies not in knowing what to do when that happens in order to save what once existed. Knowing what to do. Just the thought of that sounds far too deliberate and onerous to make it joyful.

    Instead, the wisdom of love lies is in being consistently true to the image you portrayed when you first met the one you claimed to have loved. You see, we present ourselves in a way that makes us most attractive or appealing when we find ourselves in the company of those by whom we wish to be admired or accepted. It is an aspirational desire. The insincere will quickly revert to their default disposition of being less than that the moment they feel that they either accomplished the goal of winning said admiration or acceptance, or if they believe that it is a futile effort. That is when the love fades.

    It fades when you think that your best is not deserved any longer. It fades when you think that being lethargic, distracted, or otherwise inclined is more warranted than the giving of your attention in the same measures as you did when you first met. We confuse love with lust far too often. It is the lust that fades. Lust will fade if we grow intellectually and spiritually. That growth automatically demands fulfilment of a different kind. People don’t grow euphoric with physical stimulation, but rather with intellectual or spiritual fulfilment. Euphoria is a feeling of the heart, not the loins. The loins breed lust and indulgence, not euphoria. How many lay there emotionally detached while fulfilling the rights of their lovers while faking it? The absence of the heart renders any physical act impotent.

    When we expect the loins to fulfil what the heart needs, we delude ourselves into believing that physical attraction is more important than spiritual beauty. Relationships don’t go through natural cycles of decay. There is nothing natural about us losing interest in the one we’re with. That only happens when we grow separately, or when one grows and the other doesn’t. That is when love fades. And don’t be fooled into believing that it is anything more complex than that simple truth. Love fades when we leave the ones we love behind, or when the ones we love choose not to continue on the path that we set out on. That is when love fades. And then we set out in search of trinkets to distract ourselves in order to remain loyal to a cause that has long since lost any of the substance it once contained.

    Love fades when you stop caring. You stop caring when you stop paying attention. You stop paying attention when that which attracted you is no longer available, or you’ve outgrown the wonder that it offers. Perhaps that is why it is said that it is not love that keeps a relationship going, but commitment. But even that is not enough, because at some point, the cost of remaining committed will outweigh the benefits of the commitment.

  • The Folly of Love (Part 2)

    The previous post of the same title always felt incomplete, and most probably so will this one. There is another side to this concept of love that is almost entirely absent in our lives. Apart from the sincerity of gestures and goodwill towards each other, there is a bond that is established with each giving of ourselves that goes unnoticed. It escapes us because we have no expectations of it growing into anything more. Sometimes we even restrain ourselves actively from giving more because we are averse to the responsibility that goes with such a contribution. There is a beauty, a grounding, or maybe more accurately a homeliness in being able to connect with another human soul. It is accompanied by a sense of belonging and acceptance. But it is often short lived, if felt at all. I think love extends to every human interaction.

    I’ve found that with each interaction that I share with another, especially when those interactions continue over an extended period of time, and the more familiar I become with the struggles and aspirations of the next person, the more likely I am to fall in love with their being. We always talk about giving of ourselves as an act of love, but I think surrendering our defenses is equally indulgent. To surrender requires trust, and trust reflects more of the person that is trusting than the one who is trusted. It is grounded in a sincerity to contribute or receive that which would otherwise not be possible to bring into being. That sincerity is fed by a desire, or more accurately a need to connect in order to feel significant.

    The most fundamental source of inspiration that we receive is appreciation, or gratitude. It affirms our ability to make a significant contribution which indirectly validates our sense of purpose. Appreciation is an expression of love, but not just an appreciation of beauty. Instead, it is any form of appreciation that extends beyond the superficial. However, the intent (which can be argued is similar if not the same as sincerity) will either taint or embellish the expression of appreciation. It is in that moment that we find reason to fall in love, or to be repulsed.

    The cynic in me compels me to acknowledge that every act is an expression of love. However, that expression is not always aimed at the other. If we look closely enough, we will always be able to determine whether the lover is immersed in a love for themselves, or a love for that which they pursue or indulge in. Even in the most despicable form of aggression or cruelty there is a love that is present for that which drives us to the point of such powerful expression. This ramble is losing its focus and its meaning, and perhaps in that is the confirmation that any contemplation of love is indeed a folly.

    But the lingering thought that remains to be expressed is what affects me most profoundly. It is not the act of falling in love that demands the most of our senses but rather the gutting of love that does. In that moment of betrayal when the one whose being you have grown to love retracts or deliberately withholds their expression of love to you, it is in that moment that the realisation of the love that was shared is most often felt. Until that point it is most often taken for granted, if noticed at all.

    I fall in love with the human spirit more times than I care to admit. And I scare many who are afraid to even consider that love may exist under such circumstances. Given the rarity of true compassion in the world, it is easy for an innocent show of concern or affection to be misconstrued for lust or inappropriate attention rather than love. This moral decay is not only robbing us of a wholesome living experience, it is robbing us of the ability to express sincerity without fear of being unfairly judged or entirely ridiculed.

  • 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.

     

  • The Ingratitude of Depression

    During the period in my life when I was diagnosed as being clinically depressed, the thoughts that pervaded my consciousness were always focused on what went wrong, what didn’t work out, why it would be futile to try again, and so on. I felt abused and despondent, let down and betrayed. I looked around for an understanding glance, let alone an embrace, and all I saw were judging eyes and detached hearts. There were some that acted out of obligation, and others that meant well but didn’t have the capacity to contribute meaningfully, and then there was me. Isolated in my thoughts and frustrated at the cycle that kept leaving me on my butt.

    The prescribed medication helped nothing except to give me a locked jaw and a dulled mind. When I emerged from my medicated state my reality remained unaltered, and my options were still bleak. It took a while before I realised that being a victim was a statement of ingratitude. As long as I saw myself as a victim, I discounted my blessings. Any acknowledgement of my blessings was always within the context of how little it mattered in the absence of everything else that I believed I was denied. I despised my state of being, and I was intensely unhappy with the way I was conducting myself.

    Despite it not being a primary concern at the time, I remained aware of the responsibilities that I had towards those around me, although it was focused on the material and physical contributions from my side and little else. Meeting people with a cheerful disposition was optional, and being pleasant when being dutiful would suffice was a state that I seldom chose for myself. My dominant state was one of being occupied with thoughts of my unhappiness with the world, and with those around me that contributed to everything that I was denied. Those that didn’t speak when their words would have made a difference I saw as cowards and hypocrites, and often as opportunists. But even they were beside the point.

    Remaining in a state of depression denied those around me of my non-material contributions that they had a right to. A pleasant environment, a sense of appreciation, a visible gratitude for their presence and contribution in my life, and so much more. It sounds contradictory relative to my complaints, but the truth is that even those that stay out of obligation contribute towards my experiences in ways I mostly only realise much later in life. One story that always comes to mind on this subject is from a workshop facilitator I met very early in my career. I remember him saying that his father was his greatest influence in life. His father used to spend every day all week sitting in his favourite armchair and reading the newspaper without any meaningful engagement with him. It was that persistent sight each day that inspired him to not be like his father. In the absence of that poor example, he may have followed the mainstream and never achieved any great moments.

    But more importantly, it was his choice to take something positive from that experience that made the difference. His father failed him in his right to guidance, a sharing of wisdom, healthy debates and meaningful interactions that would feed a healthy self-esteem, but in the absence of that, he did not allow the actions of his father to define him. He moved on and pursued a greater purpose in spite of his upbringing. And that is what remaining in a state of depression denies us. It denies us the ability to pursue those greater callings, that higher purpose, that vision that seems so beautifully out of reach. In our state of depression, we not only deny the reality of that which we have reason to be grateful for, but we also deny those around us the motivation or reason to be grateful for their lot as well. We will never exist in isolation even when we isolate ourselves. The very nature of our birth tethers us to the human race.

    But there is a rub in all this. As nonsensical as it may sound, neither is happiness nor depression a choice. Instead, they’re both outcomes of pursuing or abandoning a greater purpose respectively. When we lose sight of our purpose, or at least the pursuit of the same, we will find ourselves suppressing our needs for being associated with something greater than our selves, all the while convincing ourselves that we’re incapable or undeserving, only to be faced with the brutal reality of our betrayal while struggling to hold on to the last breaths of our existence.

  • The Hazard of Conviction

    The risk of living your life with conviction is falling in love too easily. Stop. Not every statement of love is about needy bonds between two people. No. Love is more wholesome when it is considered within the context of giving of yourself without restraint just so that you can experience the joy of such abandon, even if it is discarded or goes unnoticed. The aftermath of such rejection is what primes us for our next encounter. Sometimes it builds walls so high and tough that we lose any conviction in living with conviction. But sometimes, it strips us of any pride we may have had in holding on to the delusion of being in control, and as a result we find ourselves actively pursuing the ideal that got away.

    Despite my disillusionment at those that live life focused on pleasing or appeasing others, I can’t despise them for it because I know that those same weaknesses exist within me. I may not succumb to it as often these days, but I’ve had my bouts of indulgence that left me questioning my significance and my sanity. But this is not about self-doubt, it’s about conviction. Those that lack conviction demonstrate an absence of love or passion in what they do, and it shows. We are drawn to that which resonates with our convictions, be they values, principles, or even aspirations. We are repulsed by those that create noise or disturbance around these core issues of our serenity, sometimes overtly, but often as a natural dislike that cannot be easily explained.

    I find it easier to engage meaningfully with someone that holds contradictory views to my own when they express such views with conviction and sincerity, as opposed to the whimsical agreement I receive from many that are too afraid to offend me. We need receptive hearts before we find the words to express the message that stirs within us. People with conviction are often those receptive hearts we need, while people without it tend to sway with the fads and the fickleness of the times, leaving very little room for inspiration, but much for consumerism. Given how distracted society is these days, it’s safe to assume that the distracted are many, while the convicted are few. When the convicted challenge the distractions, they are purged from society under the guise of maintaining the peace. (I suspect that many will struggle to see the ‘convicted’ as one with conviction, as opposed to a common criminal, which ironically contradicts the fact that the one without conviction is in fact the thief of the peace in our lives).

    Choosing to live with conviction is choosing a path laden with heartache and disappointment, occasionally peppered with a glint of beauty from those that have experienced enough betrayal and disappointment to learn to be true to themselves. But those moments of beauty cannot be traded for anything less, because everything else only feeds the desire to embrace that beauty. It is akin to achieving the realisation of something, which once realised, cannot be un-realised. The absence of conviction makes it that much more difficult to recover from betrayal, because when we lack a sense of who we are and what we stand for, we are more likely to court the affirmation of others for the sake of affirmation, rather than finding comfort in being grounded in our focus on a higher purpose.

    There are too many of us that are trying to live someone else’s dream, while believing that it is in fact our own. We’re afraid to scratch beneath the surface, or disrupt the system, while we celebrate the disruptive ones. We find a calling behind a rebel, but spurn rebels amongst us. We contradict ourselves regularly, but are oblivious to such contradiction because it is in balance with society. We allow society to define us while we despise ourselves for being defined. We want to be unique individuals, just like everyone else, and the saddest irony is that most don’t get the irony in that.

    I have fallen in and out of love with people in brief moments of random encounters. Some have held my love for longer, while others took it for granted because they were distracted by affirmation too soon. Seeing the gold in the eyes of one that feels a sudden and unexpected elation at truly grasping a moment of beauty in their own lives is priceless. It is what drives me to be uncompromising and tenacious in my effort to unlock more of it in everything around me. Those that lack such conviction find me impossible to deal with, but those that have it experience moments of revelation that reveals the beauty beneath the cesspool of society.

    I am at odds with society, and I love it. I never wanted to fit in, although at times I desired acceptance. But conformity was never an option. I pray that I will meet others with an equal conviction in my lifetime, not just fleeting glimpses of them, but a true embrace of souls that will provide a distant echo of the peace that lies beyond.

  • Expectations and Ingratitude

    I sometimes find myself taking offence when someone does not fulfil my rights. I mean, it’s my rights, so why shouldn’t I get offended if they abdicate their responsibility in the process? But then I felt that familiar twinge I usually feel whenever I know I’m being deliberately arrogant. It’s a twinge that causes me to rationalise in my mind whether or not that arrogance is called for, or is it really just a self-indulgent tantrum. Slowly it dawned on me that despite the rights I may have, taking offence to it not being fulfilled suggests that I feel entitled to it.

    Entitlement can sometimes be justified, especially in the above scenario, but it doesn’t mean that my underlying motives cease to exist. My sense of entitlement also implies that I have an expectation, and I still maintain that expectations are at the root of much bitterness (and by the way, Shakespeare never said that, no matter how many times you see that meme on the net). So it’s better to have hope instead. But that is really beside the point. The real issue that I grappled with in all of this was the fact that when I focus on my rights that need to be fulfilled, it significantly alters my demeanour when dealing with anything that is remotely contentious relative to that right.

    When I see the contribution of others as an obligation on their part rather than a blessing on mine, I easily slip into a mindset of arrogant expectation. The only time that someone is obliged to fulfil my rights is if they have an equal conviction in a common belief system where they respect the repercussions of their actions. The ingratitude, I guess, arises when I assume that reciprocation is not needed where my rights were merely being fulfilled. And perhaps in that is some truth that calls into question the sincerity of such gestures.

    Sincerity is not reciprocation. Sincerity is fulfilling the rights of others even when they neglect your rights over them. But that sincerity is relative to the intent with which such rights are respected. If we uphold the rights of others because we fear the repercussions of not doing so, then we’re insincere. The benefit may still be there, but its effects will be limited and its rewards will be absent. How this all ties up is not necessarily obvious, but it is amazingly relevant.

    If gratitude is truly tainted by entitlement, which I believe it is, and sincerity is often neglected when we feel obliged, then it makes sense to me that sincerity can only ever be true if entitlement and reciprocation play no part in our motivation to act. Sincerity in action is the result of a conviction we hold true in spite of our low opinion of another. It is with such conviction that we will find ourselves able to contribute towards the upliftment of those that we believe are culpable in their needy state. But it just occurred to me that even that conviction will be grounded in a belief of reward or recompense that is either worldly or other-worldly. Whether we believe the wheel will turn and smack us back in this lifetime, or we believe that we will receive our reward when we are judged for our actions, it amounts to the same thing. Self-preservation.

    It seems like sincerity is a wholesome concept that is grounded in our need to feel magnanimous while feigning humility. If we didn’t feel entitled, and if we were truly capable of gratitude, contentment would not be so elusive. I look around me and I see my restlessness echoed in others. This suggests to me that we’re all lacking contentment in what we have and what we need from those around us. Like darkness is only manifested in the absence of light, so too must restlessness be manifested in the absence of contentment. We won’t be restless if we didn’t feel neglected, and such feelings of neglect would not result except when we feel entitled, and such entitlement is only present when we believe we’re more significant than others perceive us to be, and so it stands to reason that our perception of our self is what drives us to be the fools we are, in search of contentment while actively pursuing that which erodes the very goal that we aspire to reach.

    Yet another vicious cycle.