There are days when I feel I’m on top of the world and then there are days when getting up from bed is an ordeal. And just when I am struggling to get up from my bed, I stumble upon this happy online post of a friend. He seems to be the person who is sorted with everything he wants in life. Each time we meet, we discuss totally irrelevant things like his career, his perfect future plans, his girlfriend and whatnot. While I always envy him, he often cribs about all of that. And that’s when it strikes a chord for the nth time ‘Nobody’s life is perfect, some are just good at pretending it is.’
More often than not, I get caught up thinking that life is a steam rolling past me while I’m lost in matters that don’t belong to me, issues that feel so heated and important, but really aren’t. Sometimes, the noise inside my head is greater than the silence and it becomes really difficult to get going. But it is in that noise, I keep seeking magic. The cacophony that clouds my head reaches out for the ease of magic. And I yearn for moments that help me spark curiosity about life, that help me build a belief that everything is possible. Maybe the noise strokes my ego than it sparks my curiosity or builds my belief.
I wonder very often why is it that I’m caught up in a cultural frenzy to revere and adulate the over-achievers, the ones that struggle night after every single night, the ones that ignore all other aspects of their life in a single-minded pursuit of success or fame. Why isn’t it fine for me to lead a life where I say, “I would like to spend this weekend going on a trek, writing poetry, or drowning myself in nostalgia reading old chats, instead of working on an audacious project”?
I keep forgetting that life is a journey, not a race. What matters truly are the stops I make, and the memories I carry with me. Maybe, I’m afraid my life will be filled with darkness if I don’t achieve more than what I’ve already achieved.
I’m still searching for the last piece of darkness in my soul to cast it out.