I still come here often — logging in and out, checking whether I could push myself to type in a few words, trying to search for what could be shared. Maybe it comes with age. Or maybe there’s no reason to back it. What I’ve been meaning to type this whole time is this: I feel like there’s nothing to share.
My head is still a ruckus, with a fountain of thoughts both trivial and substantial. But there’s no longer a drive to spit out every anomaly I see, or announce a self-proclaimed great idea.
These days I’d much rather curl up in bed and read a book or pester my husband because I have nothing better to do. It’s one of those days again. Have you ever had them? The ones where you just want to pause and not do anything. No, I’m not making an excuse to laze around; things really are just bland these days.
If there’s nothing to share then why am I here, you might ask. Because I want to prove myself wrong. The lack of enthusiasm has been brought about by a (self-inflicted) hard blow on my self-esteem and much as I want to indulge in the disguised comfort of wallowing and self-pity, I am, in fact, alive and well. Those may not account for much but should be enough to keep anyone going.
So yes, I am at it again: pulverizing my own dreams because my impatience gets the best of me. But I’m not keeping at it.
To completely negate my introductory statement, here’s something I’d like to share: sometimes, even when we punch hard to fight back, when we’re so accustomed to doubting ourselves and gauging our success by other people’s accomplishments, we fall deep and find ourselves succumbing to the evils of envy. But it doesn’t mean we have to let it win. Punch harder. Why, give it a little kick if you must. There’s only one way to find success in life and it’s by finding your own brand of success. Comparison, a wise man said, is the thief of joy. It’s a difficult feat but I with all my might, I’ll try to no longer be a slave of other people’s idea of happiness and success.
I am well. Take that, envy and self-pity.
