Tag: society

  • Resisting the norms

    Resisting the norms

    The relentless pace of society towards retiring those who are no longer contemporary is enough reason to settle into the rhythm of preparing for old age. Just writing that out makes me nauseous.

    To regain my sanity, or at least to push back against the approaching insanity, I remind myself that I have a good 20 to 30 years still left in me should I not succumb to the violence that pervades so many social spaces. 20 to 30 years is a lifetime in itself, which makes it difficult for me to grasp why someone would willingly plan to surrender a lifetime in favour of a belief system that has put out to pasture the wisdom of lives lives and struggles overcome.

    Society is only as strong as the most pervasive weakness that it celebrates. At present, we appear to celebrate mediocrity, sensationalism, materialism, and debilitating comfort. Passion and purpose do not feature in the most important discussions around me, both in my personal domain or in the public domains that I frequent.

    My aversion to such norms has seen me increasingly isolating myself from such spaces leading to a dulling of my spirit that threatens to land me in exactly the state the thought of which nauseates me. Thus, if left to my own devices without a grasp on life itself, I will succumb to the very thing about which I judge others. That has proven to be the only truth about the struggles of my life.

    The judgement that I flirted with in my youth visited me in my adulthood and threatens to define my twilight years. However, I refuse to embrace the twilight. I will marvel at it, and perhaps even taunt it, but I have no intention of embracing it. My irreverence at that sight of social norms creates a tension within me each time I even contemplate fitting in or going with the flow of the river of affluence that stenches up the environment around me.

    An art neglected will be lost. Thus, I find my ability to express myself slowly eroding while the mental clutter of everything that I have grown to despise about mediocrity takes its place. The despicable narrative of the contempt that I hold for the lack of conviction that I am bombarded with takes up more head space than it ever should.

    The absence of a sounding board or an understanding gaze leaves me adrift in a sea of tumultuous currents that have exceedingly brought me closer to tipping over and losing myself to the idealism of a mind fraught with angst at the sight of everything that threatens the wholesomeness that I hope to experience before my final calling.

    When the spoken word is not welcomed, the written word is all that remains of my avenue of protest against a world that celebrates vulgarity and self-aggrandisement rather than the substance and wondrous nature of life itself.

    A distracted clown appears deeply philosophical. A whimsical philosopher appears foolish.

    I must avoid both.

  • Repost: Judging to be safe

    Repost: Judging to be safe

    Judgement is not always harsh. But, judgement is always focused on an external standard that we think others respect.

    Don’t under estimate how much this mindset causes problems in every sphere of our lives.

    Before throwing in the towel on that relationship, reconnect you with the reasons that gave you hope in the first place, so that the distractions don’t leave you with regret later on.

    External standards give us comfort because we don’t run the risk of making a bad decision by ourselves.

    If things don’t go well, we can always say that everyone thought that it was the right thing to do.

    More than this, when we live up to a standard that we know others respect, we automatically feel respected.

    That way, we don’t have to go through the difficulty of earning respect by ourselves.

    This mind set conditions us to judge right or wrong, good or bad, better or worse, rather than to seek understanding of why we, or others, may fall short.

    This, more than anything else, undermines the quality of the relationships that we have with others, and especially with ourselves.

    And remember, seeking to understand bad behaviour doesn’t mean we condone it. It just means that we have a better chance of addressing the reason for it, rather than responding to its symptoms.

    Own Your Life.

    It always starts with you.

  • Seek understanding. Always.

    Seek understanding. Always.

    If you find yourself judging, more than understanding, you’re filled with fear about the future. Not hope.

    Judgement is not always harsh. But, judgement is always focused on an external standard that we think others respect.

    External standards give us comfort because we don’t run the risk of making a bad decision by ourselves. If things don’t go well, we can always say that everyone thought that it was the right thing to do.

    More than this, when we live up to a standard that we know others respect, we automatically feel respected. That way, we don’t have to go through the difficulty of earning respect by ourselves.

    This mind set conditions is to judge right or wrong, good or bad, better or worse, rather than to seek understanding of why we, or others, may fall short.

    This, more than anything else, undermines the quality of the relationships that we have with others, and especially with ourselves.

    And remember, seeking to understand bad behaviour doesn’t mean we condone it. It just means that we have a better chance of addressing the reason for it, rather than responding to its symptoms.

    If this is something that you or someone close to you is struggling with, reach out. Let’s talk. A fulfilled life is more achievable than it may appear to be at present.

  • A Brain Dump

    A Brain Dump

    Mental clutter creeps in at times when I find myself focused on serving others but neglect my own nourishment in the process. My own nourishment, however, escapes me when I find myself lacking in my efforts to achieve the very ambitious goals that I set for myself. Incremental growth has rarely appealed to me. This has been at the core of my contention with the world.

    But contemplating such contention is what leads to the mental clutter. My concern with how I am perceived or received by others too often feels like a necessary evil. This is especially true when I consider that this path that I have chosen in recent years has increased the need for collaboration and interaction with others rather than prompted me towards my ideal of living as a recluse.

    Being reclusive is a luxury in a messed up world, albeit a luxury that offers peace. My convictions, however, will not allow me to indulge my needs while growing painfully aware of the slide of society towards the abyss due to the selfishness of those who are blessed with resources to change its course. Too many assume those resources to be wealth and influence, while the truth is that anyone that has value to offer must offer it if it is ever to amount to anything.

    In that lies the rub of many of my contemplations. The easier path was always one of quiet living. Keeping to myself and minding my own business. Yet, each time I attempted such a lifestyle I found myself attracting those, even in that space, that needed to be freed from a burden that was wearing them down. But like I’ve said in past brain dumps, there are many who, after they have been uplifted, would prefer to avoid the source of that upliftment because it reminds them of their moments of weakness. Then there are others that would rather not scratch open the festering wound that is slowly poisoning their soul. Their wound grows to define their significance so deeply that any attempt to clean it and heal it is met with seething anger.

    The human condition has always been a fascinating one. Especially my own. I flit between offloading my cluttered thoughts and lecturing the world. Between confusion and pompousness, or doubt and narcissism. It’s so easy to cross those lines, and so tragic to see how many assume themselves to be above such crossing.

    A brain dump once offered much therapy for a mind as cluttered and crazy as my own. Therapy has morphed over the years. At one point it was a flirty glance, and a whispered nothing. Over the lifetimes that followed it changed to become a knowing smile, or a familiar embrace, both of which have been elusive. The brutal honesty with which I considered these changes has left and been replaced by a measured expression. The problem with being measured is that it never allows a release of the truth that holds us back, or keeps us distracted.

    In the absence of such expression, clutter normalises and focus flees. Apparently using alliteration is discouraged for authors. I suspect that’s only for authors that lack the wit to appreciate it. Oh yes, the brain dump. I entertained, in recent months, the naive notion that those for whom I maintained a measured expression actually paid attention to my ramblings. The naivety of my being always provided a source of morbid entertainment for me, and this time was nothing less. However, age old jokes tend to lose their humour as we progress through the years that shape us…occasionally we try to shape them.

    Listening to Milli Vanilli in the background, I’m reminded of the frailty of the human ego. I’m reminded of how many would sacrifice their own authenticity to find acceptance at almost any cost. Some, at any cost at all. It’s the sight of such sadness that always leaves me unsettled. Looking into the eyes of those that court acceptance and seeing the emptiness behind it. Seeing vulnerability in the eyes of another has always been a torturous taunt. Ah, that damned alliteration again.

    Vulnerability is strength if expressed sincerely, but disheartening if exposed unwillingly. There is too much weakness in this world. Even the statements of rebellion that occupy my social media timeline are cries of pain disguised as an obstinate protest. Thankfully the playlist moved on to Tracy Chapman now. A story of self-doubt and raw beauty. She actually thought she would be mocked if anyone heard her sing. Thankfully someone convinced her otherwise. How many of us are waiting for someone to convince us that we have something of value to share with this heartless world before we dare to expose it to the light?

    So much is lost in the doubts that drive a wedge between who we are and who we’re willing to allow the world to think we are. Genius, beauty, creativity, artistic expression, passionate protests and so much more are all hidden from the world because of the hideous consideration about what society would think. If only we recognised that we normalise the prejudices of society when we afford it merit or virtue. Many a great nation was destroyed because they grew to worship their traditions and taboos more than the principles that established the value that underpinned it. Tradition and taboo are two things I’ve rarely respected. It always seemed like an unaffordable indulgence in light of the suffering souls that succumbed to the expectations of the flag-bearers.

    To be normal in a distorted world implies distortion of the self. Whether or not the world is distorted is all about perspective. But then, what isn’t about perspective? If I find the world to be distorted and another doesn’t does it make my perspective invalid, or does it call into question their misinformation…or perhaps mine? Defending the truth is a tricky endeavour when such truth is so open to being bent. The more aware we are of how it can be bent the greater that distortion.

    We seem to have reached a stage in human history where our eloquence is so pervasive that the most uninformed opinion can find support and a seemingly valid defense. Life itself is a distortion of the reality of death. But alas, who wants to contemplate death, despite it being the only guarantee we have. Such morbidity is reserved for those that are foolish enough to believe that they can challenge the traditions and taboos to break the yoke that weighs us down.

    A chuckling sigh is all I can muster at the thought of that last statement. A chuckling sigh indeed.

  • A Beautiful Mess

    A Beautiful Mess

    The last year has been a beautiful mess. It has been a year of pushing boundaries and testing long-held truths. People, relationships, skills, passions, and even hobbies all came under close scrutiny as I peeled away the layers of assumptions that coated them over the years to test whether they still served me well, or at all.

    I tested my hand at mindful living, more so at carving my own path through the forest and the lessons that I learnt along the way, most of which are still incomplete, have unlocked new realities and resurfaced old joys. My sense of self continues to evolve, almost on a daily basis. Accepting a truth about my reality on one day seems foolhardy or delusional on another. But in between it all there has been a lightness in my steps that has been absent from my gait for decades.

    I lost myself to life over the decades. Courting authenticity with a naive mind can be taxing and expensive. Living out my convictions has increased the isolation around me. Only, it’s an isolation that holds much peace despite the loneliness that it threatens to share. The peace is the absence of expectations, except for the moments that the capitalist structures around me tear away at my being through the yoke that still weighs down on my shoulders. The realisation that what feeds the soul doesn’t feed the belly intensifies each day.

    Uplifting quotes or extended hands to those that find relief in its offering falls short of its reciprocation of upliftment. The multitude of needy hands reaching out while their eyes look defiantly away cuts short any embrace that might once have offered some fulfillment. Fulfillment has been replaced by servitude and servitude proves to be no more than a payment of debt. Social debts and divine rights are pervasive. Harmony and a divine handhold not so much.

    The unbeaten path always promised solitude. Perhaps that is the only promise that has been fulfilled. Everything else carries with it the weight of expectation or reciprocation. Distractions and virtual embraces offer more comfort than the distracted ones around us. Do we connect virtually because we see each other more clearly without the social stigmas and classes present, or do we connect virtually because it is the only connection that is accessible?

    I no longer serve the social structures that I once courted, and along with it gave up any hope of finding the support that this new life demands I have. This used to be a cryptic space but I’ve realised that any confusion or mystery resulted only from my hope that there was more to be enjoyed, or acquired. Seeing the social constructs for what they are leaves little room for expectation, or even hope. Hope is only relevant in a symbiotic relationship, not a cannibalistic mutually exclusive one. Such has been the interaction between society and I for as long as life has held any promise beyond the immediate breath. Serving the divine is all that keeps me tethered to such contracts.

    This beautiful mess is the freedom that such realisations and independence endows. The absence of belonging and only the belonging to absence. It once seemed so vapid in its concept but has proven to be utterly grounding in its experience.

  • A Long Overdue Brain Dump

    A Long Overdue Brain Dump

    Certainty is such a mirage. Predictability convinces me that I have stability, but when the disruption comes, I realise that I was simply taking comfort from probabilities. But that’s what life is about, isn’t it? The probability of everything. The probability of good fortune keeps us chasing and the probability of death stops us in our tracks. The present moment is invested in whatever we believe those probabilities to be.

    Sometimes life is so curiously challenging that death looks like a welcome break from the norm. The consistency of struggles and the ease that follows. After each cycle, the struggle that follows the ease is what I preempt, and I lose sight of the ease when I have it. That’s how my tolerance and my tenacity wears down. What doesn’t kill you certainly makes you more brittle. I often feel the brittleness creeping in.

    Clarity of thought has been elusive. Moments of inspiration and conviction form and then flee and then form and then flee. Is this what menopause must feel like for a woman? The tease of comfort followed by the taunt of its ugly sister?

    I need to revisit my timeline from before seven years ago. That was the last time I wrote anything that continues to resonate with me now. There were a few isolated thoughts that I scribed in between, but nothing worth revisiting in the awkward silence before bedtime. The silence that flirts with the failures of the day and caresses the hopes of tomorrow.

    There was a time when I thought in prose. The vivid nature of the imagery my words conjured in my mind before leaving my body used to offer me some respite from the madness of me. Now it simply echoes it. My echo chamber is empty. It doesn’t even taunt me with my own whispers any more.

    I’m always on the brink of something amazing. Then I watch an enthralling movie and contemplate the genius of the mind behind the story while questioning the value of my ramblings in its shadow. I need to abandon the legend in my mind before my story will find its own path. I pause at intersections for too long these days. I used to choose a path the moment those intersections came into view, yet now that contemplation continues for much longer after my arrival at that point. Something is amiss and I suspect the answer lies in what is amiss. How do you find an answer that is hidden in the question?

    Late night ramblings or early morning hopes carry the same burden of promise and anticipation. Its fulfilment lies in the fading tenacity and resilience of the rambler and thus appear like an iridescent mirage flirting with the horizon but never reaching out. Opportunity rarely reaches out. It most often sits in the shadows waiting expectantly while not revealing any clues of its willingness to be courted or wedded. It’s an obstinate grunt that shuns the smiles of my hope while grabbing my ankles as soon as I turn to walk away towards the next intersection.

    This grid of madness grows more uncomfortable each day. Am I the village idiot? The one who has a place and a purpose, but never a captive audience, only a fleeting joy passed on to others while my own cup remains unfilled. Or is that the ingratitude that stifles my progress? The pretense of generosity of spirit that cloaks the need for celebration. I’m not alone in such pretences. I see you, clearer than you see me. But I see me reflected in you and I find it distasteful, that my recognition of your weakness is a reminder that I must know such weakness first to recognise it in you.

    This city of solitude is quiet in all the wrong spaces, and rowdy where it matters least.

  • The Lonely Path (II)

    The Lonely Path (II)

    That incomplete thought process is hounding me. It feels as if the main point that I tried to convey in the first take on this subject eluded that entire post. The main point was simply this. Before I continue, I am well aware that me using the term simple when explaining what’s going on in my head is quite the oxymoron. So there is no need to snigger about that.

    Anyway, the point is, when we choose to pursue a greater calling in life that stretches who we are and what we stand for, we need to realise that the people that are familiar with who we are will no longer know the person that we are striving to become. Under ideal circumstances they will grow with us. But ideals are most often talked about and rarely implemented. So expect to feel a creeping sense of isolation when you push yourself beyond the norms that surround you.

    Understand that when you outgrow the environment that you’re in, those that have grown to be defined by that environment will quickly assume that you are trying to be better than them. Or maybe they will assume that you think you are now better than them. Whether that is true is irrelevant. What is relevant is that you are different. You are hopefully a better version of you. But unless you surround yourself with people that appreciate and grow with you, that’s when the lonely path appears before you.

    You’ll find yourself growing uneasy as you feel at odds with what used to be familiar and comforting but slowly grows to feel discomforting and somewhat annoying. The comfort of familiarity will be replaced with the realisation of exclusion. Not the exclusion from social circles because that remains consistent for the most part. But the exclusion that leaves you emotionally wanting while physically accepted. An ambivalence sets in that challenges what you believe to be true against what you think may be an assumption of grandeur.

    Believing that you are capable of more borders precariously between confidence and delusion. Choose delusion, and you’ll be delusioned about your dreams and aspirations, resulting in an embrace of mediocrity so that the familiar comfort of fitting in continues to stroke your ego. Choose confidence and expect to be tested each time you take a bold step towards being the better version of you. Each time you break away from the norm you risk ridicule or rejection, or both. More importantly, each time you step up, you face self-doubt about your ability to succeed, and your motivation to want to succeed.

    Are you still serving that greater purpose or are you serving your ego? Are you pushing yourself to escape complacency or are you courting the admiration of others? The questions that hold you back never cease while the strength to push on is always just out of reach. That’s when you need to stretch yourself into unknown spaces. That’s when doing what feels comfortable and safe threatens to undo every bit of progress that you made up to that point. Even if no one else noticed that progress, you’ll know it was there after you gave it up. Give it up silently and it will haunt you quietly for the rest of your life as you wonder if you would have been able to pull it off. Protect that progress and nurture it into something greater, and you’ll face the reality of success and the horror of failure every few minutes in the back of your mind as you try to focus on what you feel passionate about while trying to subdue the self-doubt that gave you reason to procrastinate for so long.

    At that point you’ll slowly begin to realise that life was never about persevering through trials, it was always about facing the fears of success. By focusing on the trials we have something to raise as a trophy just by surviving. Succeeding in moments that trounced others feels like success, but once the moment passes, once the recognition of our struggles and our bravery fades, we’re back to facing off the same questions that taunted us when we grew restless in the first place when we first looked at our life and saw all the gaps we could fill to make it better and improve it beyond meaningless embellishments. You cannot unsee what you stared in the face. The more you try to ignore it, the more exhausting the effort to distract you from it.

    The lonely path is the only path that showed others that there is a better way. It is the sacrifice of one that improves the lives of many. Needing the guarantee of reciprocation or reward before setting out to improve this world feeds the transactional greed that defines too many of our interactions. Be like everyone else and you’ll always feel like you belong, except when you’re taking your final breath, or when you’ve aged beyond your fickle social needs. When your energy and your health no longer allows you to pursue with gusto the passion of your youth, desiring to change the world will be nothing more than self-inflicted torture. Building hope on the empty promises of inclusion by society is a foolish way to burn your candle. If you hope to die knowing that the world is better because of your existence, don’t shy away from the lonely path, embrace it.

  • Razing Adults

    Razing Adults

    I have a good chuckle each time I replay the words to that parody about millennials. The one sung by a human beat box singing to the tune of Life Goes On. As entertaining and relatable as the lyrics may be, it misses one critical point, which is in fact the irony of it all. The general discussions and criticisms about millennials are most often voiced by the generation of adults that came before them. So I wondered that if the adults are complaining about the next generation, who raised these millennials to be such dramatic and entitled members of society? Given the general level of irresponsible behaviour among millennials, they obviously couldn’t have raised themselves.

    It’s a common failing. We blame society for what is wrong with the world around us, but abdicate our responsibility to and participation in that very same society. We blame corruption for the misery in the country but abdicate responsibility for our contribution towards it when we dodge taxes or pay bribes to get out of speeding fines. And so it is with the millennial problem. The same adults that failed as parents are now ready to point out what is wrong with the generation that they failed, while feigning innocence in the process.

    Far too often I hear adults mention how they are trying to give their children everything that the adults didn’t have while growing up. They don’t want their children to struggle the way that they (the adults) did. They despise their trials in life as if it was a curse while neglecting to notice that growth and strength of character is not developed in times of ease. This selfish indulgence by adults has robbed an entire generation of critical character building experiences by trying to protect them from life itself.

    The greatest mistake you can make as a parent is to convince yourself that you’re raising children. You’re not. You’re raising adults. Unfortunately we have too many insecure parents who want to be popular with their kids rather than making the tough decisions that will guide them instead. Because they don’t have to be the bad cop, they assume that they’re doing a good job, while raising kids that are so fragile that not having an electronic device or enough online privileges sends their kids into a depressed state.

    Every tantrum thrown by a kid has a diagnosis of a mental disorder attached to it. Not only does this resign the remedy to dangerous and unnecessary medication, but it gives the parents a get-out-of-jail-free card by suggesting that the problem is not related to environment, discipline, or healthy boundaries. Adults that refuse to age gracefully because they’re afraid of letting go of their youth do not take their rightful place as adults, guides, mentors, and most importantly parents in the home, and in society. What this means is that there is a vacuum of leadership and role models that see egomaniacs taking office to lead nations, and children having to relearn the lessons of the effects of absent parents, while having parents around. Not only is it an avoidable burden, it erodes the social structures that are needed for harmonious and wholesome living.

    However, such harmony and wholesomeness is what everyone desires, but only a few are willing to actively pursue. Everyone feels entitled to peace and comfort, but no one wants to create the environment or circumstances needed for it. There is an app for everything, and an outsourced service provider to take care of what the apps can’t do. And somewhere in between there is a lost generation being raised to believe that selfish needs are justified and duty is only reciprocal if there is something in it for you.

    We’ve razed adults from the horizon and replaced them with entitled brats in adult bodies. They’ve tainted the formative years and then spend their lives trying to undo the damage that becomes evident in the troubled teen years of their children’s lives. That is, for those that stick around and don’t see parenting as optional. Unfortunately it is accepted as quite the norm for fathers or mothers, or both to abdicate responsibility knowing that there is a grandparent or a daycare service that will take care of the responsibility instead. The selfishness carries a nauseating stench that will linger long into the next generation who will have to figure out effective parenting by themselves, or from what little recollections they may have of the substitute adults that raised them.

    Raise adults. Not children. The growing process for children takes care of itself. They didn’t need to be taught how to crawl or walk, or talk. They followed your example because it was set through active engagement, and not through dishing out instructions and walking away. The same is true for self-respect, responsibility, compassion, sincerity, resilience, tenacity, and all those other wonderful traits that are sorely lacking in the world as we are experiencing it today. Children do not need lessons on how to have fun, or how to party. They just need absent parents to figure that out without any boundaries.

    Stop trying to live a perpetual childhood for the rest of your life. No matter how young you feel inside, you will not delay the aging process, or the inevitability of death. What you will achieve though, when chasing such superficial and childish goals like trying to look 18 when  you’re 30, or behaving like a student when you’re having a boys’ night out when you’re 40, is abandoning your responsibility to a child that will see your juvenile behaviour as acceptable, and will struggle to figure out why establishing a healthy relationship or fulfilling social contracts is so difficult. Remember that point about how they don’t need to be taught how to party? Well, when they hit the lows because of their ineptitude at maintaining healthy relationships, they will once again resort to unhealthy and reckless behaviour that they saw from their wayward parents who were trying to be cool instead of passing on a baton that was worth holding on to.

    Don’t fail your children because you insist on trying to lick the bottom of the cup of youth. It’s pathetic. And entirely unfulfilling. There is a beauty and a peace that is achieved in living a full life. Not full of yourself, but full of the beauty of the lives that you have touched, especially the lives of your children.

    Don’t raise children. Raise adults. The world has enough misguided kids already.