Mind

Letting Go

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This has been a raging debate in my mind for some time now. 

What am I really supposed to be okay with and make peace with? What’s the ultimate formula for a peaceful existence? Is it learning to be okay with uncertainty? Or is chasing absolute certainty with regard to every outcome in life fully justified?

I think chasing absolute certainty can often be a lost cause, because that simply isn’t how life works. Yes, you get what you put out into the world more often than not. But sometimes, life can have other plans. I know it is fairly commonplace for a lot of things in people’s lives to not pan out exactly as they had imagined them to. And as unfair as that may feel sometimes, the key might just be to be okay with that—maybe not immediately, but eventually. 

Learning to embrace or simply live with uncertainty can often be nightmare fuel for the anxious mind. The infinite number of ‘what-if’ scenarios that can come to mind is almost akin to witnessing a multiverse of sadness. It is easy to imagine everything that could possibly go wrong, because most minds are trained to think in that direction.

But maybe there is another approach to making peace with a certain degree of uncertainty. 

Maybe that is to just embrace inevitability. 

Maybe the key is to accept that the way things happen is fairly uncertain in life. To me, just having an inner sense of knowing that everything will work out is what constitutes embracing the inevitable. That sense of knowing, that gut feeling, is ultimately what leads to flow—positive action without unhealthy attachment or expectation. It is where one begins to find that every layer of unfolding, be it ‘good’ or ‘bad’ in the moment, is contributing to one’s highest good in a way one can only possibly see several days, weeks, months, or even years later.

An aversion to accepting a certain degree of uncertainty or embracing inevitability often comes from a sense of urgency driven by fear. Urgency isn’t usually driven by intent. True positive intent values consistency of action, not the immediacy of the desired outcome. 

Maybe it’s all coming together. And maybe not in the way you’ve always imagined or the way anyone else has imagined. And that is okay. Being overly invested in the “how” is a recipe for lifelong disappointment. Much of the universe is beyond our wildest imaginations, and so are most of our lives, and that is exactly what makes the journey as exhilarating as it can be.

​10 Reasons Why Personizing Sucks!

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1. Obvious Humour:

A statement that personizes anything works as a prompt for a possible obvious scientifically correct statement in an attempt to crack a joke. While the ‘joker’ in question may bask in the glory of his tiny wit, you feel stupefied, annoyed and sorry for their lack of imagination all at the same time.

2. Imagination (and the lack of it):

Practical jokes often stem from a desperate desire to look funny. Conjuring up metaphors can feel good to an enthusiast of the written word; and some people may look down on you,  and wonder why you look so dazed at times. To them you’re the perpetual fantasizer that has lost track of reality. Haven’t you really though? And wilfully too.

3. Helplessness:

You just can’t help it. No, you haven’t lost your mind yet. But there’s no explaining that to your wilful or at times, forced audience.

4. You’re always high:

You don’t have to smoke weed to see what most people won’t. You bring inanimate objects to life at will, and it’s a high no drug can match.

5. No revenge:

You want it sometimes for the mockery that comes with it, but there’s no way to get it. You think long and hard, seeking a way to do it, but find none. At the end of the day, you have to make-do with the fact that it’s them that have the raw deal.

6. It’s addictive:

It clings to you like leeches, and it’s more stubborn than any of those little suckers will ever be.

7. Indecisiveness:

It makes you wonder if you’re stupid. Am I? Am I not? You never have a definite answer. Maybe you are, but that’s one of those rare, right kinds of stupidities. Because through every word, you enlighten a life or two, and even if it’s just one, it counts.

8. Takes varying degrees of thinking from time to time:

It won’t always be easy. But most things that are worthwhile, seldom are.

9. It’s rarely a shared experience:

It’s not something you would discuss with people, so you write about it and wonder if people will laugh at you as you put it out. You are almost sure they will, but secretly hope they won’t.

10. Basically, it’s not everyone’s cup of tea:

Or coffee. Or lemon juice. It’s not a cup. It’s not even a thing. It doesn’t have mass nor does it occupy space. See, I know science. Yes, I stated the obvious, but isn’t everyone fond of that? So when a writer states the not-so-obvious and it isn’t to your taste, let it go. To you, it might make no sense, but to him/her, it’s merely a string of ideas that are beyond the reaches of your mind. For now.

It only takes some trying to get there.

Mind-Trip

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For someone who is fascinated by the many possibilities of travel, I haven’t done a lot of it in the physical world. However, in the realms of my mind is a route that takes me way deeper into my soul than any road ever will. It’s a trip unlike any other and one that brings forth flashes of the good and the bad. It’s the trip we’ve all been to, and continue to take every other day… The trip down memory lane!

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It’s a lane that builds itself over time – it only needs you to live, and takes no dime. It resides within the confines of your mind and yet, goes way beyond a thousand miles. Getting there is no mean feat. Overstay your welcome, and you are dead meat – lifeless enough to miss the little things that come your way. Depriving you of all focus, and leading you astray.

At a time when living in the present is considered a necessity, this is a privilege many learn to do without.

“Why dwell on the past when I can live now?”

The memory lane is no flashy street -certainly not all the way.

Decrepit lamps and shoddy streets at one moment, and the likeness to a lively city on the other, makes this a location of contrasts. Damaged frames, shattered vases and broken hearts lie disheveled. While pictures of happier times, letters of appreciation and the laughs on repeat at an audio store – all make for a pleasant stroll while reminding me of my roots and the impermanence of things, tangible and intangible alike.

The walk is long and tires me after a while. The heart still beats sans any panic; but my emotions are on overkill – never a great signal. I decide it’s time for a breather, and sit down by the edge of the street, hoping to let my emotions settle. I ask them to sit right by me, requesting them to not go away. They take deep breaths and collect themselves, feeling sorry for all of life because it brought along shades of grey.

They join me in a while as I continue my journey – stronger this time, unaffected by the crests and troughs. The memory lane scares me lesser this time, as I build a resistance for everything that didn’t work, for occurrences that surpassed no expectation and toward an ego that refused to let me be.

I trudge from one end to the other, looking fondly at everything I once possessed – wishing I could hold it all once again. But such are the ways of the world they say, that nothing lasts forever.

I decide to let go and keep walking; hoping to find memories my mind may have lost. But I only get back to where I started from. Thinking I may have lost my way, I look around for a way ahead. “Memory lanes don’t come with maps”, they say. “They rebuild themselves from time to time.”

Unkempt and weary, I come back to the moment; looking forward to another free roam.

Memory lanes keep the present at bay, so you wonder if there’s another way to reminisce it all – only to realise that you have no other choice. So you hold on tight to your ropes, swinging past memory after memory and soaking it all in differently each time.

Oh so practical!

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CH

As someone who tends to be overly formal or courteous at times, I would’ve loved to start this post with a few words placed consecutively to form greetings for the beginning of a new calendar year. I would have.. But Cyanide and Happiness have taught me otherwise. After a few seconds of pondering, I had to admit that I agreed to this comic, albeit a tad reluctantly (the optimist in me refuses to die).

Since the start of the new year yesterday, I’ve also come across folks on all forms of social media giving away a ton of flak to other folks who harbor a sense of optimism with regard to a whole new set of months to look forward to. And I can’t help but cringe at this bunch of whiny cynics that are going out of their way to dictate how the optimists and the hopefuls should think.

We all have our ways – particularly our own patterns of thinking. And in this case I am often compelled to say, ‘To each their own.’ This is strictly in line with the revered principle of considering each person to be unique. Revered, or as the preceding paragraph seems to suggest, probably not. The real problem here is that it’s revered or dismissed at will – as per our own whimsical conveniences. We suit ourselves without ever sparing a thought for the positivity brigade – an unofficial clan responsible for everything that’s sprightly, bright and ever-so-vibrant about the world. Why pull the others down when they’ve done no wrong? Why shatter their beliefs instead of aiming to build up our own?

The answer to both of those questions is simple. It’s the burning desire to be seen as die-hard pragmatics. Because apart from making sure that you appear sane, a pragmatic approach ensures that upsets are few and far between. It ensures you always know what’s coming your way and how. There’s no guessing and consequently, there’s a truckload of security. But there’s something the pragmatics fail to realise. Or more appropriately, there’s something they’re missing out on.

It’s the power of faith. Of being okay with looking like an idiot at times. Of hope.

To try and awaken people to the fact that a change of calendar won’t significantly alter their lives, is to desperately try and deprive them of hope – which by all means is more evil than pragmatic. People might think they’ve outsmarted the world by doing so, but they haven’t helped anybody here – not the least bit themselves or their own lives.

To put it simply, I think hope should qualify as a fundamental right. We all have a right to hope, a right to look forward to new beginnings, a right to a momentary escape from despair from time to time. And no one can or should take that away from us. NO ONE.

I can’t resist quoting Andy Dufresne from The Shawshank Redemption here:

‘Remember Red, hope is a good thing, maybe the best of things, and no good thing ever dies.’ 

Here’s to hope – to another year that’s full of promises and has plenty to look forward to.

The Santa Thesis

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Toward a cottage in the middle of nowhere, he walked through the snow.

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Joe had been a student of the arts, and spent a majority of his time away from home –studying in college in the middle of a city far far away; following which he had taken up a job.Of course he missed his family. But there was something he missed even more.It was the feeling of being at home –at peace, in comfort, away from all the hustle and bustle,whiling most of his time away on the couch, cocooned in the warmth of a brilliant novel.Life in college made him a busy young man, with a social presence as lifeless as a dried carcass in the middle of a desert. He craved interaction, social meetings and simply spending time with his people.

It was holiday season and Joe couldn’t resist the idea of reuniting with his family. He stood on the porch outside, and knocked twice. He could barely move. It had taken thirty minutes of trudging to get to this place – and even as he was protected by multiple layers of winter wear, he could feel the chill.

Seconds later, his father was at the door –he hadn’t been expecting Joe and a knock on the door late in the evening had taken him by surprise. Needless to say, his father was pleasantly surprised. “What a remarkable Christmas this is already!” he remarked and gave his son the tightest hug. The upcoming week held promise aplenty for Joe and he looked forward to the New Year filled with optimism to the brim.

Celebrating Christmas at home had lightened him up considerably.The holiday season was nothing short of top notch.But he dreaded returning to college – to endless assignments, to a social life that was conspicuous by its absence, to missing his people, to wishing he could experience it all again, albeit without having to wait for another year.

“How I wish Santa was for real!” he thought to himself. “If I could ask him for anything right now, it would be a life as lively, colourful and refreshing as the Christmas tree.”

A week after Christmas, Joe packed his bags with a heavy heart and set foot to return to college. Throughout his return journey, he couldn’t stop obsessing about being taken over by the mundane again.As the bus he was in raced forward – destination bound in a relentless manner, he looked up through the window at the night sky. He couldn’t help but stare and wonder about the magnificence that was the universe.He had heard about the ‘thoughts become things’ theory all too often, but he had never given it a try.A supposed lack of a few things had made him somewhat desperate.He thought it was hard work –not physical, but mental.

The following week, he made a conscious effort to discard all the pessimism in his life. From thinking patterns to behaviours –every ounce of his mind would be subject to thoughtful reforms. He didn’t bother about whether or not it would work –he just went about doing his thing, hoping for the best.

A month later, Joe opened a large case that lay idle in his apartment for years. He didn’t remember what it contained and his curiosity got the better of him. Besides, it was the weekend and it looked like a good time to clean up.As he opened the case, his eyes sparkled.It was a six-string he had bought five years ago.

“Damn this thing. I haven’t touched this in years now.”

As he strummed the first notes on his old companion,he reminisced the last time he had used it –it was a Christmas carol in a church outside the city. “Those were the days”, he recalled. He had played it everywhere he went back then, and to anyone who insisted.

As he proceeded to clean all the nasty dust off his stringed pal, he realised that Santa existed. And although he didn’t always turn up in a red suit,he was always there – waiting for the slightest hint of faith to show up on his mind so as to make its way to the soul.You didn’t always have to wait for Christmas.

 

 

Future Perfect?

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9:00 am:
This wasn’t the usual morning in many ways, or maybe it was? I have no idea why I have always fancied living in denial – as if it was an extraordinary thing to do. As I waited for the train to arrive, I could sense that I was engulfed by an aura of nervousness; a heart that couldn’t stop racing, busy hands, wobbly feet and a countenance that was far from composed. I liked to think I had little or nothing to worry about, a feeling that only lasted until reality chose to stick its ugly head out. If only, life was the little fantastical tale that unfolded in my head day in and day out.

Five minutes later, the train entered the station. Every prospective passenger was overcome by a sense of urgency – men holding their bags closer to their bodies, women lining up closer to the train. Train travel would normally be an indispensable part of almost every working citizen’s day here in my city. I rushed inside as the train barely grinded to a halt, and was lucky enough to find a vacant seat that day. For a moment right then, I was tempted to affirm that this was a wonderful morning, but I hesitated. Throughout my journey, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Today would be an important day at work – an all-important presentation beckoned. That would be followed by lunch with the who’s who of the organisation, the journey back home in the evening, an hour at the gym followed by dinner with my lovely family. A very simplistic schedule albeit one that stressed me out today. What was I worried about? Or what wasn’t I?

The adage, time flies is the truest of them all. Twenty five years of being an earthling, and I had spent the last ten chasing one thing – perfection. Was I any closer to it now than I was five years ago? Or was I going around in circles chasing something that could never be mine? Who knows?

For every problem I had in the now, I looked to a solution in the distant future. The present moment was always a haze. I couldn’t help but wonder if I was doomed – doomed to spend the rest of my life with the “what-if(s)” and the “if only(s)”.

I was nervous about the presentation – but hey! Wouldn’t doing it right fix everything?

Would I be able to maintain my composure during that lunch? I don’t know.

If the presentation is okay, I might. But what if it isn’t? – I shuddered at the thought. I just hoped to not embarrass myself and my boss.

I snapped out of my daydream just in time to realise that the train had almost reached Weary Road. The office was a five minute walk away from the station and I made it in time. The presentation was an hour away and I grew increasingly restless with each passing minute. In an effort to distract myself and alleviate my nervousness, I tried fiddling with my phone.

12 pm:

It was time for the presentation and my confidence was still an invisible entity. Every inch of my body was in ‘no chill mode’ which in turn led to a shaky voice. No matter how proud I was of getting these opportunities, these final moments made me have second thoughts, always. These were moments when I went from “I am so glad it’s me” to “Why me?” in a matter of seconds.

I took a deep breath, started my presentation and was glad that it went along just fine. Halfway through, the fact that I was supposed to be nervous had escaped my head. I wasn’t even thinking about it.

The end of a decent presentation was followed by lunch. In complete contrast to my expectations, nothing had gone wrong. And then came that rare moment again – of believing that I had nothing to worry about. This is always how I went about my days; swinging from one extreme to another – from wanting to worry about everything, to having nothing to worry about.

My presentation was a temporary respite. I wondered if I was doomed to live in fear. For every attempt I made at locking horns with my limitations, my fate reasserted the fact that it had other plans. I didn’t want to believe that my fate controlled every inch of my being, but I was forced to.

I slogged to no end for every single day. I was a thorough workaholic and trying to find life beyond work was a tiresome ordeal.

My schedule these days was simple – Eat. Sleep. Work. Repeat.

My personal and social lives were in complete and utter turmoil. I needed to pull myself out of this rut. And to do that, I was willing to go out of my way.

The mechanical and the mundane had consumed me over time. Contrary to what many believed, I really wasn’t living a life, for it had little that could be described as lively. My fears still managed to keep me in a shell. I was living in oppression – one that was imposed upon me by my own mind of all things. Breaking the shackles was going to take far more than a philosophical speech and plain courage. It needed me do what I feared the most – it needed me to act my answer out, to confront my fears head on without any consideration for the consequences. I could make it unscathed, or I could be shred to pieces. The choice was mine to make.

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It has been ten years since I retired. I dread living the life I had left.

Just as my old decrepit body struggles to get off the sofa, a loud alarm goes off.

Startled, I open my eyes and look around. I rush to the mirror at the other end of the room and heave a sigh of relief. I am still 25, have a presentation followed by lunch with the biggies and my usual routine to look forward to.

“Thankfully, that was just a dream. Or probably a nightmare”, I murmur. Shaken and stirred, I know I cannot be the same person anymore – for existing had always been my forte, but living was still a distant dream. Maybe I still didn’t know what I was looking for, but for once, I knew what I wasn’t looking for – because sometimes, that is just as important; or maybe more.

PS – This story is a work of fiction.

Dilemma

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I am not sure if any of you have been through this, but I have over the years and continue to. Man is a social animal and conversations are a significant part of our lives. You might talk about current affairs, sports, your favourite TV series or movie, careers, family issues or relationship concerns. While most of your conversations would obviously be in the company of a friend, colleague or relative, there are some which are limited to the confines of your minds.

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You wouldn’t usually declare this to anyone around you at that point in time because it might seem irrelevant or just plain crazy. “You need a shrink” is not even the last thing you want them to tell you.

Everybody talks to themselves about something or the other, sometimes in their minds and sometimes, out loud. If you say you don’t, you’re a liar!

(Still in denial? Let me help you change that. Click here)

In my case, the questioning never stops. It’s not that I am fond of disagreeing with widely accepted norms; but my curiosity always gets the better of me. When someone tells me to do a certain thing a certain way just for the heck of it, they can always expect me to counter question, out loud or otherwise.

I have a great fondness with talking to myself. Especially when I travel, this becomes very obvious. I am always looking around and talking to myself about anything and everything I see. It could be anything – hurling abuses at an idiot causing traffic snarls, ‘reviewing’ a hoarding, pitying a dilapidated building or just my views on a tree by the roadside. I don’t make sense half of the time and that’s okay – because I am the only one who’s ‘listening’ which means no one’s going to judge either.

When it comes to social interactions though, I think and analyze everything I am about to say, perhaps to avoid making a fool of myself. But as it often turns out, it doesn’t work – not for me, at least. People often get frustrated by my lack of conversational participation. Those are situations where they would love to know and hear more of me, but I won’t let them for some stupid fear of appearing to be less than a skilled conversationalist.

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I have come to discover that going with the flow can feel a lot better and while I might still make a fool of myself, it could be worth the risk.

Awkward silences have haunted me eternally – those are moments when I am trying to collect myself and utter a few words without any erratic pronunciations resulting from the dread of being murdered for uttering something that could only be regarded as immensely nonsensical. (In other words, I take the proof-reading bit too far) My apologies for all the awkwardness if you have experienced any while I struggled to let out a syllable.

I tend to run out of things to say faster than most people would, and that’s not because I speak too fast.

I tend to contemplate if my utterances would really interest the other person. Now, this will not be the case if I am absolutely, undoubtedly, positively sure that you would be – this applies to formal meetings. I can be great at formal meetings, but the informal ones? well..

(You might read this and wonder why I feel the need to be a designer and not an analyst – for all the knack to be analytic of every single thing). 

I also get fascinated by people who can literally talk all day. That must be some talent. Yes, to me, the ability to make small talk is talent.

I’ve tried defining myself as an introvert, only to realize that I wasn’t doing the definition enough justice. Unlike most introverts, I enjoy going out with people and I could spend a lot of time interacting with the lot that has me company so long as we click. But there are times, when I just need to be by myself.

Ambivert might apply, but it’s not something I fancy. I am trying not to give myself a label.

The advent of this blog has been the beginning of an adventure in many ways. A journey of self-discovery, of getting to know myself a lot better along the way while also giving myself something to look forward to each weekend. With each article, I learn to accept myself (quirks included) a wee bit more.

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And in a journey of self-discovery and acceptance, if this isn’t success, what is?