#3: holding on tightly

I don’t always practice what I preach. Much like the rest of humankind, I am exactly that—human. I am flesh and bone, blood and tears, thought and emotion. The intellectual in me knows better—the intellectual in me truly understands what is good for me and what is not. It knows what I ought to do in order to be happy, just like it knows what has the propensity to cause me pain—and yet, I don’t always acknowledge it. And then there are those occasions where I downright defy it.

If asked, I wouldn’t necessarily class myself as disagreeable or controversial—I’m quite the opposite. Mild-mannered, somewhat reserved, and always polite—and yet, there are times when I do choose to make life feel that little bit harder for myself. Despite having no desire to conform to societal expectations and preferring my bohemian way of being, no part of me is anarchist. Tender-hearted and morally pure, I want the best for the world and everyone in it—I just don’t always extend that courtesy to my own self.

Reader, I write a lot about the philosophy of being, becoming, fulfilment, and joy—not only because I find it thoroughly enjoyable, but because I truly believe it to make an enormous amount of difference in the way we live, love, feel, and experience the world. I wouldn’t quite class myself as a philosopher—or even an intellectual in the field; I’m an artist if nothing else—but I can appreciate that my simple view on how to be human provides pause for thought. And yet, there is one area of my life that I cannot seem to apply it to.

I am nothing if not a work in progress. I’ve declared on many an occasion that I see myself as incomplete. I feel whole as a human—but I don’t doubt for a second that my work is ongoing. Such is the beauty of life. We must always challenge ourselves and encourage ourselves to grow and evolve with the ways of the world—even if it’s only in our own little way. But to be frank with you, Reader, I often find myself in what can only be described as a catastrophic loop of chaos and destruction when it comes to getting any sort of growth and progression in said one area in particular.

If you have ever found yourself making many a mistake over and over again, you might begin to understand just how this feels. Try as I might, I am completely and utterly unable to relinquish any sort of control—wanting to stand watch and supervise in an attempt to manipulate the outcome—when all along I know I am doing nothing but harm. Reader, I know I know better. I know, intellectually speaking, that I must stand down—I must breathe and let the flow of life handle matters on my behalf. So why, when faced with it, have I become more feral and rabid than ever before?

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