Tag: purpose

  • The Belly of Delhi (Take II)

    I left Delhi feeling uneasy. On the one hand I felt arrogant and judgemental, and on the other, I felt justified in some of my observations. The nagging notion that I could not shake, despite it prompting that feeling of arrogance or superiority, is the fact that individual choice will always trump the political setting within which we live. There was no shortage of complaints from people that I spoke to regarding the corruption, disregard of human life, and pollution to name a few things. I found this curious because it reminded me of my observation about how we always complain about society but completely forget that we make up that very society that we spurn.

    And so it is with Delhi, and every other place around the world that has similar problems. Almost unrelated but similar in principle, it reminds me of my thoughts when I saw the police brutality against the Egyptians when they protested against the government during the early days of the Arab Spring. People polarised so easily without considering that those policemen came from the same communities that they were attacking, and in turn didn’t blame their own communities for raising such brutes that were blind to human suffering in the face of orders from a corrupt command line. South Africans that complain bitterly about the government and burn public infrastructure in protest only to vote the same government back into power are also a prime example of the same mentality. It is this lack of accountability and awareness of our contribution to the degradation that we suffer that often leaves me struggling for words to describe the bewilderment that I feel when I witness its outcome.

    Political corruption does not dictate personal or collective hygiene. It’s not a privileged life that teaches us not to defecate where we grow our vegetables, or to urinate where we walk. Nor is it a privileged upbringing that teaches us to share before we selfishly consume, or to be honest instead of cheating when we do business. Compassion is only eroded when we’re in search of something that in itself conflicts with such values. Our exploitation of those lower in the food chain is what solicits our exploitation by those higher in the same food chain. Similarly, the less we respect ourselves, the less likely we are to positively contribute towards others, let alone show due respect for them as well. All these are symptoms, like the drivers that drive without care or concern for order or rules, with a blank cold stare on their faces, unmoved and oblivious to the frustration they cause, because everyone else is doing the same. This is the mentality that creates the critical mass that allows corruption to thrive. It’s the same mentality that silences the detractors, not because the detractors are silent, but because their protests are easily drowned out by the cries of the self-serving through their sheer volume.

    When we do simply because everyone is doing it as well, we lose the right to complain about the outcome when that outcome denies us our dignity, or our dues. The world is in turmoil not because of corrupt leaders, but because of corrupt societies. Societies are corrupt because the communities that comprise those societies have lost their way. But these wayward communities are merely echoes of the dysfunction that exists within the family units. Raising daughters to be slaves, or men to be brutes, or treating human beings like livestock that can be traded, or abusing children as if they were created for our amusement. These are not a result of corrupt leaders. No. These create corrupt leaders. We have social conditions that are unprecedented because we have become unprecedented in our selfishness. That selfishness that erodes the greater good that would otherwise maintain the harmony that we so desperately seek.

    The laws of cause and effect are all-encompassing and consistent. What we put in is what we get out. Extremism begets extremism. Raise children in an environment that stifles creative expression and watch the rebel form the moment your stranglehold on their being is loosened. Traditionalists have become insecure in a world where nothing is sacred. That insecurity rallies the spirit to defend as if on a noble crusade, when in fact it’s merely a desperate attempt to retain significance that is bound to rituals from a time that holds no relevance. What has this got to do with the Belly of Delhi? Reverse engineer that belly, and at its core you will find the selfish indulgence of a society that is steeped in ritualistic compliance and lacking in principles or values that are congruent with their aspirations.

    Delhi is not unique in this regard, nor is India as a whole. The world is infested with such degradation of spirit, but Delhi just has the scale to make it easier for the us to notice, assuming we have any inclination to notice at all.

  • Reset

    I find that dealing with betrayal or abandonment of trust is very different now compared to a few years ago. My efforts to live mindfully have been beneficial. What previously would have resulted in a derailment of my train of thought, or my focus, now simply nudges me slightly from time to time when I consider the fickleness of relationships that have always been one-sided. The awkward silences, the abhorrent attempts at arrogance to feign confidence, the pretense of composure. It all seems so superficially desperate to prove that the betrayal was not in fact betrayal, but instead it was a statement. A statement of futility in the hope that the world will be convinced while those that peer too closely can be dismissed.

    There is a part of the old me that wants to extend myself yet again to smooth ripples before they become waves. But I like the waves. I like the disruption and the provocation that drives people to follow through on that fakeness until they’re faced with the cold reality of who they are and what they’ve abandoned about themselves. I like the side of me that feels no need to apologise or appease. It’s the rebel of my youth that I have not abandoned, yet. But I’ve come close, far too close too often in recent times.

    The toxic appeal of acceptance easily distracts us from who we are, or what purpose we may have been pursuing in life. Sometimes we start out making a statement, a sincere one, that we wish others would hear and embrace. In the process we become bold, filled with conviction and obstinacy refusing to give way to the drivel that drives us down the path of main stream acceptance. And then, somewhat unexpectedly, we find that our ideas, or our passions start gaining acceptance. Distracted by this sudden triumph of spirit, the emotions of the masses sweep us off our path and deliver us in the midst of the madding crowd. The crowd that forms symbiotic relationships of mutual delusion. The greater the acceptance, the more reassured we are that what we always fought for must be real, or must finally be embraced.

    So we slow down to breathe. We take a moment to pause and reflect on the days when the struggle was real, the isolation intense, and the path lonely. We hold  a quiet internal celebration believing that we’ve finally arrived, convinced that the crowd is true validation, and the embrace is an accepting embrace. Emboldened by these moments of validation, the spirit surges once again. The greater calling beckons, and in the belief that we are no longer isolated but are now seen as a source of inspiration, we take bold steps to lead that crowd to the next mound. It’s just a mound relative to the multitude of mountains that still await us. But that mound is better than the mirages of the past. The mirages that taunted us each time someone had a faint sparkle in their eye that hinted at some enthusiasm to hear our thoughts, only to discover that it was politeness disguised as conviction.

    So we step up to that mound, glowing with hope that finally the cesspool we’ve despised for so long will finally be cleansed. Finally, the beauty of the mind we caressed for all those years will be appreciated for the wisdom it has nurtured, and the masses will follow. And as we find our footing on that mound we stop to look around. The sight is a familiar one, it’s just the vantage point that is different. The crowd receded, the politeness ceased, and there we are. No, there I am, standing on the mound realising that the crowd I courted was not the crowd I courted. They represented a hint of what I yearned to engage with, and in the absence of nothing more, anything less would have had to do. And so I settled without noticing that I settled.

    The euphoria was temporary, and so was the triumph. But the spirit, the resilient rebel remained intact, ready to push forward with a renewed sense of self, because it’s only in abandonment that we are forced to question the relevance of our convictions or efforts. If done sincerely, we either re-find our grounding points, or establish new ones. If done superficially, we set ourselves adrift in a sea that will forever remain foreign.

    Each time I tasted betrayal in my life, I found myself renewed as if emerging from a birthing process. A process that smelted away the tainted cloth that covered me to that point so that I could dress myself in a new garment of endearment for a path that I have yet to fully set out on. But each time I set out, I find myself closer to the moment that I yearn for. That moment when I may find a true sense of purpose or contribution. Contribution of good from a life that was lacking of the same.

    Reset. No matter how many times it is required, it will never be too much. When the path is not the one that I set out to tread, I must reset. Restart. Recalibrate. Without such reflection and correction, I risk arriving at a destination that is not my own, nor of my yearning. Reset. Each time, with more wisdom than before, and therefore hopeful that my next attempt will be more informed, and as always, most importantly, more purposeful.

  • The Projection of Rage

    There is very little else that enrages me more than the sight of parents that project their insecurities on their children. Parents that feel insecure about where they’re at or how they’re perceived by society and then over compensate by supposedly making sure that their children are not going to be perceived in the same way. The coward’s way of life is to live vicariously through others. That’s safe, risk averse, and effectively protects you from being perceived as a failure. That’s not life. That’s fear.

    But it’s not only parents that project such fears on their children and then raise sheltered or dysfunctional charges. It’s a practice that is almost pervasive these days from governments to organisations to almost every social structure we see. It feels like we’re living in a world where everyone has to defend their claim to significance, and those that feel like they don’t have one, associate themselves with causes that justify their rage at feeling insignificant. Countries that have military might will exact respect through force, or impose their beliefs through occupation, while organisations do the same through developing lethargic hierarchical structures that disempower while holding accountable those without authority.

    Behind all of this aggression lies flawed human beings that lack conviction or sincerity, and therefore leverage the tools and resources at their disposal to make a point that would otherwise go unheard. The climb to the top therefore becomes one of self-enrichment rather than servitude. It is therefore no wonder that those that occupy public office, or positions of ultimate authority, rarely use it for the benefit of the masses, but instead aim to benefit their revered peers instead. It’s a corruption of the soul that leads to a vapid life. A life that feels so empty that the only way to fill it is through the acquisition of trinkets and distractions, and the exercise of authority over subjects that have no means to retaliate or protest.

    The individualistic and narcissistic tendencies of the modern day interpretation of human rights and the rule of democratic law has created a cesspool of moral and ethical degradation that celebrates the implosion of human dignity. We’ve created structures and protocols that pacify our innate conscience so that we are not deprived of sleep at night, but we live the same indignity we impose the moment we find ourselves deprived of the resources we once wielded.

    For governments it’s a coup or a landslide defeat when being removed from power. For organisations, it’s the cheque book holders that dethrone the arrogant heads that no longer serve them well. For society, it’s the leaders that fall from grace when their morally objectionable behaviour that is celebrated in private becomes public. We only seem to be called to account if the common knowledge of our excess indulgence becomes noted by those perceived to be our moral authorities, otherwise turning a blind eye works well because we have much that we wish others would overlook as well.

    We’re a society that resides in glass houses. We lament the erosion of dignity and peace, but refuse to acknowledge our contribution to it. This is not a rant, it’s a lament. We’re so focused on appearances, perceptions, and reputation, that we dare not disappoint the expectations of those that need our fickleness as a yardstick against which to measure their own.

    Society, of which I am a futile member, have become nothing more than a projection of rage on that which we cannot influence, or prevent. We are enslaved, more by our fears of being human than by any system imposed on us. Authenticity is rare. It requires an embrace of who we are, and a conviction in who we want to be. Most are willing to settle for the facade, because the substance appears far too daunting to pursue. The path of least resistance has never been more appealing to the meek than it is now. It is therefore no wonder that we are meek in conviction, and bold in oppression, of ourselves, and those around us.

    [This turned out to be more cryptic than intended]

  • What Am I?

    I once heard that if you intend to be good at something, you should repeat it to yourself as if you are, and not as if you wish to be. The intent to be isn’t always followed up by action, but by stating that you are what you wish to be, you condition yourself to behave as that, rather than who you are, or were. At the time of hearing this I was particularly poor at professional networking, and I recall using that as the statement of conviction for myself. As part of that exercise I stated quite boldly, “I am adept at professional networking!” I don’t think it worked.

    I still suck at it, but I do venture into that space more readily than before. However, at the risk of potentially contradicting what I said in The Placebo Effect, I think when we tell ourselves that we are something we’re not, but we have a sincere intention of achieving it, it prompts us to consciously act within the behavioural norms of that which we wish to be, rather than in the ways that may have inhibited our progress in that direction. I think it’s called cognitive dissonance.

    With this in mind, I’ve recently been bold enough to tell people that I’m a part time writer. Only problem is, I know I say it with a lacking conviction. I’m more a rambler than I am a writer. Having a collection of thoughts with a reasonable grasp of the language is hardly the makings of a writer. In attempting to start in earnest on a book recently, I realised the discipline and monotony involved in seeing such a project through.

    I’ve always quipped that if ever I wrote a book, I would sit down, start, and continue non-stop for a few days until I was done. I think a few years ago that may have still been possible, but given the level of noise and clutter now, it’s just a pipe dream.

    My thoughts are lacking in congruence now, and setting out for such an endeavour leaves me filled with frustration and impatience rather than a sense of composed expression. The result is a lot of noise that echoes my mental state rather than creating the clarity or comfort of being sufficiently expressed. In this state, making the bold statement that I am a writer leaves me feeling conflicted and insincere, rather than authentic.

    I sometimes read through my previous rambles and often cannot recognise it as being a part of me. People sometimes quote me in their correspondence to me and I end up agreeing with them as if it’s a point they made, which must seem quite superficial for them. If only they knew that my own words and thoughts often feel foreign to me. For this reason, among many others, I find it increasingly difficult to define myself as a writer, part-time or otherwise. In fact, I find it difficult to define myself at all. Such definition must dictate consistency, and consistency is something I do not subscribe to outside of my spheres of responsibility or duty.

    I guess the question relating to what I am will remain unanswered for the foreseeable future. Perhaps forever. Perhaps I’ll never afford the comfort to those around me to allow them to perceive me as a complete and finite being. Maybe in that lies part of the problem, not just for me but for all of us faced with this same question. If it was not for our need to be perceived as a specific being, we would have no need to define ourselves. I can only imagine that such absence of definition will be liberating and congruent with the nature of things around us, because it will afford a level of adaptability that definition, by definition, denies us. What a futile pursuit it is to feel compelled to act against our nature simply because the frailty of society dictates that such behaviour is necessary for predictable outcomes.

  • Gratitude

    I think gratitude runs much deeper than how we acknowledge those around us. Far too often we limit our expression of gratitude to affirmations, validations, or gifts. In some cases it’s my irksome peeve, the celebration of token events, like birthdays, mother’s day, father’s day, and the like. I think that if we stop for a moment to consider the decisions we make on a daily basis, decisions about how we respond to opportunities presented to us, we’ll quickly be able to determine how much we take for granted, versus how much we’re truly grateful for.

    Those that take things for granted generally assume a complacent disposition, or at worst, are easily offended when their ego is hurt. This is probably one of the most destructive forms of ingratitude. I’m convinced that we shun good opportunities more than anything else when we find reason to take offence to not being validated, or choosing to believe that someone else’s inconsideration was a deliberate swipe against us. Whether it was or wasn’t is largely irrelevant. It only becomes relevant when we choose to acknowledge it, or act on it. If we ignore it and remain focused on the opportunity at hand, the swipe will remain impotent, and we’ll afford ourselves the ability to benefit from a situation that would otherwise have been lost to our egos simply because we pandered to their ego.

    Gratitude is a simple thing. For me, it’s the setting aside of the ego in favour of the best possible outcome. Yes, there are a myriad of values and norms that we subscribe to that informs what that best possible outcome should be, but the point remains true nonetheless. From a practical standpoint, I think gratitude is as simple as waking up in the morning, taking care of yourself, and being true to your convictions. Everything else follows as a natural consequence from that point.

    Being true to your convictions. Too many gloss over this notion as a philosophical idealism, while completely dismissing the fact that it is our abandonment of this notion that leaves us frustrated, demotivated, and mostly unfulfilled. Being true to your convictions is what will drive you towards being fair to others, celebrating the value that they add to your life, or simply paying forward what you benefited from in the past.

    Convictions, I believe, is not defined by the statements we make about what is important to us, but instead, is related to the feeling we get in our chest when we waiver from the truth. That truth, again, is not something external in scriptures or policies, but rather that innate sense of fairness or justice that we subscribe to as human beings. That’s our natural disposition that we lose sight of when we’re driven by our egos. The ego is a slippery slope because it drives a reciprocal approach to life. It’s a constant cycle of repaying in kind the assumptions we make about being short-changed by others. In other words, we’re constantly looking to get even, or get ahead relative to someone else. This totally distracts us from whether or not we’re serving those convictions we hold within us.

    The question then arises as to how well acquainted are we with those convictions? I’ve often said that knowing what to stop doing is often more important than knowing what to start doing. We’re so fixated on wanting to start a new behaviour that we don’t consider what we need to stop doing instead. Hence the placebo effect. It all ties together in the end, even though it seems complicated.

    If I were to hazard a description of the cycle, I believe it will go something like this. We lose sight of what is important when we become distracted by what others think of us, without being grounded in how we want to be perceived independent of their preferences, and therefore end up serving a perception that we wish to be true, rather than the underlying substance that makes us authentic. In other words, when we lose sight of who we are, we become slaves to society. When we’re slaves, we falter in serving our convictions, but those convictions become increasingly foreign to us when we lose track of what we stand for. We lose track of what we stand for when we’re focused on gaining acceptance by fulfilling the expectations of others.

    At this point, we become masters at knowing what they want, but in time, grow completely oblivious to what we need, or more importantly, what we need to contribute to others. Contribution is not the same as whoring for attention. The underlying motivation determines the difference between being fulfilled and feeling raped of your dignity when things don’t pan out the way you hoped. If you were driven by purpose, failure is just a lesson on your way to being more than you were yesterday. If you were driven by the need for inclusion or acceptance, failure can easily be the destruction of your sense of self.

    Gratitude therefore rests precariously in the space between serving a higher purpose, and desiring to be perceived a certain way by others. Gratitude is what is expressed when you respond without considering what’s in it for you. Gratitude is expressed when you contribute because you can, and not because you need to be seen as a contributor. Gratitude is most sincerely expressed when you do for others what they need to live a less burdensome life, even if they don’t afford you a significant role in theirs. Gratitude is not based on tokens. It is not the events you celebrate on the calendar, but instead the life you live between those events. It’s not the birthday wish or the gift for the occasion, but the unexpected gift or the simple celebration of life that matters. Gratitude is appreciating what you have when you look to those that have less, rather than bemoaning what you don’t have when you look to those that have more. Affirmation of the loved ones in your life should be a natural consequence of the bond you share, and not a specific act that needs to remind them that they’re significant.

    Gratitude. It’s what we let go of when we’re distracted by trophies.

  • Home

    They say home is where the heart is. Given how absent most of us are, would that make us homeless? My heart always tends to yearn for something more than it has. A moment in time, an emotional connection, or a place with a specific ambiance and scent. Whenever I get nostalgic, those are typically the scenes or memories that stir my emotions. An unexpected scent or an old tune from days long gone and often forgotten, until the nostalgic bug bites.

    In a previous post on nostalgia I was reminded of the influence and exclusion that my younger years had on shaping me into the troubled adult that I am today. We’re all troubled, but only some of us are bold enough to embrace it. It’s the troubled souls, the restless ones, the ones that hold a firm conviction that it can always be better, they are the ones that drive this world forward while the complacent remain pacified with what is, because it can always be worse. It’s odd though that in contemplating both what could be better or worse, we lose sight of what is. I think it’s then that home becomes elusive.

    Too often I’ve noticed how many around me judge themselves harshly for a moment in time when they wish they had done things differently. I used to do the same until I realised the awkward truth of such futility. It reminds me of the prophetic tradition that says that whatever came to pass would not have been avoided, and whatever was avoided would not have occurred in the first place. Quite simply, the wisdom behind this confirms that if I were to relive a moment of my life, the reality of that moment would dictate that I would not have known better, I would have felt the same emotions I did given the way my life experiences shaped me up to that point, and I would have made the same decision given the knowledge or insight I had at the time. The sum total of variables influencing that moment would always result in that moment concluding in exactly the same way.

    This prompts me to wonder why it is that we judge ourselves so harshly about a moment that is long gone, as if what we know now could have been applied then? As odd as it may seem, our egos play amazing tricks on us. The only reason I can imagine this being a necessity, if in fact it ever could be a necessity, is if we desire for the perception we created of ourselves in that moment to be changed to one we would have preferred instead. We judge ourselves harshly sometimes because we need to believe that we deserve nothing less in our present moment which makes failure that much more bearable, while at other times we do so because the sense of bitter remorse convinces us that we’re still human and not totally insensitive or impervious to the pain and suffering we may have imposed on others. However, even that has an egotistical side to it. I think subconsciously we feed our egos when we convince ourselves that we are or were capable of imposing such damage on others. It makes us more powerful. It makes us more significant.

    Who would have thought that arrogance could be reflected in failure? It’s the same arrogance that robs us of home. That place that makes us feel composed, significant, or at the least, at ease. If home is truly where the heart is, why is it that our hearts are rarely where we’re at, but is always yearning for a place, a moment, or a space that is not available to us at that point? The moment we accept that we’re home, we have that much more to lose. The stress of losing it prompts us to protect ourselves preemptively from the loss so that we don’t appear vulnerable to those around us. The more we trust them, the less likely we are to feel threatened by such vulnerability. The less we trust, the more defenses we need to keep the facade of aloofness and composure in place.

    Home, for me, has never been about a moment in time, or a place. It sometimes hinted as a connection with others, but never fully landed me in that space. Home, as elusive as it remains, is always closer to my present state than it is to my present location. The comfort I have in what I stand for, and how I subscribe to those beliefs in the face of opposition is what leaves me feeling at ease, or at odds. Nostalgia wreaks havoc with my mind when I lose sight of this. It tugs at my heart strings prompting me to want to recreate a moment in time that by definition is impossible to recreate, and in so doing, leaves me chasing dreams and fantasies while remaining oblivious to the gift of what is now.

    There is no shortage of memes or chewing gum wisdom about the gift of time and the gift of the present moment. Everyone is so busy recognising the importance of the present moment that most don’t live it. They’re still focusing on recognising it. It’s ironic that we lose most of life to reminiscing about it instead of creating new memories. Even more ironic is the fact that we often end up reminiscing about times when the gang was together and reminiscing about times when the gang was creating memories that were worth reminiscing about. (That actually is not a typo. Read it again if it doesn’t seem sensible.)

    Right there is how we lose the plot, and eventually lose our way home. Home is not a defined place. It’s the composure we feel about the space we’re in, coupled with the experiences it gave us, and the emotional growth or grounding that that offered. It’s sad that so many people spend their lives trying to recreate something they experienced at some point in the distant past. For some it’s a relationship, for others it’s a childhood memory. The only common thing between the two scenarios is that in both instances those memories were created while we weren’t focused on creating memories. Those moments formed while we were living, and not contemplating the beauty of a life that may be lived.

    For me, the idea of being home will never be fully formed in this lifetime. In fact, striving for such a fully formed experience suggests a finite end to a life that could easily extend beyond that. Suppose we actually achieve that space called home. What then? Do we stop living and start savouring? If we decide to pursue any goals beyond that point does it imply that it was not home to begin with, or does it mean we’re abandoning our home?

    Life is not finite, except when death arrives. Why then do we place so many finite constraints on it while trying to live it? Home is not where the heart is. Home is where my mind and body are at ease with the present moment. Where the past doesn’t feature, but only informs, and the future is still a jewel worth courting. If any of those cease to be true before I die, I would truly be homeless and spent, and worse than this, I will be a liability to those around me, and not a blessing. I pray that I never succumb to such futility or impotence.

  • Writer’s Block

    I recently advised someone that when faced with writer’s block, the best remedy is to write about it. Seems counter-intuitive, but it seems to work for me. My problem though is that I don’t recognise myself as a writer. I vent through words, often carefully selected to maintain the level of neutrality needed in my sentiments so as not to offend many close associates that I was bold enough to invite into this blog space. That, and the fact that I would not want this space to be turned into a sensationalist’s whoring for attention. I think it works beneficially for me because it forces me to focus on the issues at hand, rather than taking an easy swipe at soft targets.

    Soft targets, on the other hand, make for an easy solution to writer’s block, if I were a writer, that is. The problem I have with subscribing to that label is that it assumes that I have writing worth sharing, or more importantly, that I do justice to the part. I ramble. A lot. That rambling is often my attempt to make sense of the internal conversations I’m having, while my focus is to articulate it in a way that will make sense to someone witnessing my cycle of insanity, if they were privy to it. So I write the way I think, often without filters, with the exception of the scenario described in the opening paragraph. Whether this is good or bad remains to be seen. But again, it only remains to be seen if it was written for the audience and not primarily for my own sanity.

    Thoughts that have threatened to prompt me to write in recent weeks appear to consistently centre around the acquisition of knowledge. I’m caught between the need versus the want of knowing something. I know that one is driven by the ego and the other by sincere curiosity, but the words are so easily interchangeable that it’s difficult to make a definitive observation about it. What I am convinced of though, is the fact that there are times when we demand to know something simply because we feel entitled to the information, or because we wish to use it for ulterior motives. The lesser frequent motivation for acquiring knowledge is because we are genuinely curious and seek to understand, rather than judge. While both have their place, I think there is a significant imbalance leaning towards the former. Given the state we find the world in today, it’s not surprising that most knowledge is acquired for egotistical purposes before anything else.

    Perhaps in that is some hint at what would cause the writer’s among us to block. Perhaps writer’s block is what happens to all of us in different ways, whether we’re writers or not. I think that when we lose sight of purpose, we struggle to find reason. In the absence of reason or purpose, we’re most likely to act in response to an expectation rather than to act towards fulfilling a greater purpose. If we’re fortunate, we realise it soon enough and refocus our efforts which clears the mental block that stifled our progress. If we don’t realise it soon enough, chances are that our ego will succeed in clouding our judgement further, and in our efforts to allay our fears of insignificance or incompetence, we play to the audience and slowly erode any sense of purpose we had in what we set out to do simply because we cannot afford to be seen as lacking.

    The fact that we may be travelling the same path that we set out on does not necessarily mean that we still take joy or benefit from travelling it. I think there’s an important point in there somewhere. I also just realised that writing about my mental block spawned thoughts that were hardly at the forefront of my mind when I started. I guess the trick is to be able to express without judging yourself first, or without considering if what is to be expressed will be seen as wisdom, or whimsical. I generally don’t care much for the opinions of others, although recently I have been distracted by it from time to time. When that distraction reared its head, I found myself floundering in my ability to be decisive which is a very frustrating place to be.

    Re-centering my thought process on what I subscribe to has made the difference between bobbing around aimlessly in the sea of dysfunction around me and setting the current to disrupt that same sea. Disruption is often frowned upon, but usually only by those that lack purpose. Disruption in thought and deed is needed to avoid slipping into a rut of routine while believing we’re part of something great. That something great is usually the energy of the masses that are in that rut with us, while the volume of our collective trudging quickly turns that rut into a trench. The distracted masses then look around and celebrate their time in the trenches as a select few rise to the top and exit the trenches because they became the champions of the dysfunction purely through tenure rather than contribution. It’s the age-old celebration of a struggle. The duration of our struggles is often what defines us, more than our emergence from the same state. It’s the shortest path to pacification of the meek.

    The cynic in me is thriving, which is usually a sign that I need to abate and reflect. Introspection is a good place to be. It’s a pity that it is so often disrupted by a need to act on its fruit, where the absence of such action will leave us being as impotent as the foam on the ocean. Writer’s block be gone.

  • Recognise My Struggle

    Following on from my contemplations of the impact of our ego and pride on our ability to accept change in our lives, another trend appears to emerge from the same cycle. That trend relates to our need to be significant in the lives of those that influenced our lives at a point in time when our identity was still being formed. Significance takes many forms and is hardly limited to just being able to play a meaningful role in the life of another. That is the easy part. You either find that acceptance or you don’t. If you don’t, you feel rejected and betrayed and you choose to hold on to that as a defining moment, or you choose to let it go and move on.

    The more difficult part is when we don’t play a meaningful role any longer in their lives, but still desire to be perceived more positively by them. This is significantly more damaging than the previous scenario of rejection because we pretty much set ourselves up for failure in the process. The less meaningful our role in someone’s life, the less likely we are to influence their perception of us. Worse still, it assumes that they still care about how they perceive us. In other words, we still assume that they notice or care about our development and progress in life.

    Problem is, more often than not, they don’t. More often than not, they’ve moved on and we’re still stuck in a moment in time that has long since become insignificant for them. They’ve either made peace about it, or chances are it probably never meant as much to them as it did to us. And so we set out on that hamster wheel trying to turn it faster than we did the day before hoping that someone will notice the improved performance, while not realising that the sum total of their interest is really just whether or not the wheel is turning. But we assume that their interest must be more than that because of the gravity we placed on the influence they yielded in our lives. That’s a burden of responsibility on them that only exists in our minds and probably never even occurred to them.

    So we have choices. Several choices. We could impose ourselves in their space, bare our souls, and hope they reciprocate and appreciate so that our struggle to please or impress them receives some validation. Or we could recognise that maybe the emphasis of that experience may have been exaggerated in our own minds because we had nothing more significant as an influence in our life at that time. Or, we could let go of it all and simply focus on progressing our development because it’s taking us in a direction that we consciously choose for ourselves, regardless of the past experiences that may have prompted us in that direction. Most don’t even consider the last option because of how fixated they are on meeting expectations that are formed only in their own minds.

    Given how blatantly destructive this cycle can be, I’m compelled to believe that there must be something more that drives this behaviour. More than just the fulfilment of an aspiration rooted in a past relationship or past lifetime. I think that something more is related to our need to be recognised for what we achieve. It’s like the proverbial tree that falls in the forest. If no one is around to witness it, its fall from grace is meaningless. There is no regret or sympathy, or even a simple recollection of its moments of glory when it stood tall and provided shade and beauty. Fortunately for us trees are beautiful independent of our appreciation of them.

    The same is true for people whose focus is internal rather than external. They are not driven by validation, but rather by contribution. Conviction to serve because it resonates with their principles, rather than desire to be celebrated because it resonates with their ego. I guess the point is, the more we need to be recognised for the struggle we’ve endured, even if that struggle is simply a figment of our own imagination, we will find reasons to emphasise the remnants of that struggle at every turn until someone validates the strength it took for us to rise above it in spite of the gravity of it. That validation becomes ever more significant to us when we allow ourselves to be defined by the events of our lives, rather than our contribution towards the lives of others.

    Self-worth. It’s the one thing that drives us to do the most destructive things, mostly to ourselves before we do it to others. Those that fight the realisation of that low self-worth most fiercely are the ones that become more abrasive and abusive towards others around them. Those that succumb to it without feeling worthy of overcoming it recede and become mutes in the landscape of life. They are the placeholders among us. They are available to be solicited but do not themselves actively contribute. Their inclusion in such solicitation is what appeases their ego enough to give them reason to continue restraining their individual expression from fear of reducing their chances of being included. They are constrained in their thinking and focus their efforts on fulfilling expectations falsely believing that they are serving a greater good, while in reality are too afraid to serve independently.

    When we go through life waiting for our struggles to be recognised, to be seen as the walking wounded, or the ones that survived, we become defined by that survival. We become survivors. Survivors don’t enjoy the sweetness of life. They simply enjoy the deferral of death.