“Imagination is more important than knowledge. For knowledge is limited, whereas imagination embraces the entire world, stimulating progress, giving birth to evolution.” -Albert Einstein
I’m tired as I write this; I’ve been tired like this before.
I’m excited on a new idea, been here before.
This will be the one, I said that before.
I’ve blogged before, not blogged, chased new interests. Said I liked them, said I didn’t.
It’s all a loop.
And for a while that’s been my detriment. I go faster in the loop. Longer in the loop. But it’s all the same. The details change, timelines, people involved in my life during these cycles. Each new idea starts a craving for the next. Each day leading to the next. More goal setting. More empty promises. I’ve been here before.
And I’m trying to reconcile that. I’ve done many jobs, lived many places, and done many things. And I reflect back. Each of those was a new high. A new frontier for my curiosity. But where does this LEAD me to? Is life a perpetual journey of chasing ‘new shiny objects’? I’m trying to come to terms with myself. What’s present for me today, is nothing but a movie clip, with slightly different narratives, characters, plots, etc., from the experiences I had years ago.
This is slightly confronting. I feel like I’m living out a shorter version of Buddha’s incarnations, but on weekly, yearly levels. This cycle just keeps…cycling.
So I’m trying to question the program. What is looping? Why do we feel like our lives feel like cycles? Why do we repeat the same patterns with new places and people?
I feel like I identify myself by what the experience I’m having in the moment. “Currently I work here, live here, and do this with my free time”. But that seems to be changing for me often. Maybe others feel more settled and grounded in their lives, but I do reflect – what’s happening?
I feel cautious to set new goals, to set new sights. Nothing feels realistic anymore, its feeling abit jaded. I’m abit hurt from past failures, high hopes that never prevailed. Apart of me wants to rebel against this thinking, and just say my goal is no goals. Another part of me wants to write ON this specific subject, just like I do in my blog. It feels more real part of me. It’s incredibly humbling, to have these moments, they feel like omissions of confusions, frustration, dizzy trying to make sense of the world. Chase goals, chase dreams, but I just spend my time writing about how it feels so artificial. What do you do when you stop dreaming? When the dreams feel vaguer, or they don’t live up to the idea we put on them? Am I backing out too early? Calling it impossible and settling for less?
I’m here to just write. It’s uncomfortable to just free write like this, but honestly, this feels as true as it gets. I don’t filter it, I barely edit it. I just come and show up here. And speak. And it’s nauseous. And I’m hoping something can come from this. Clearly I don’t write stories. I am more psychology, philosophy. What is the dream for someone who is feeling harder and harder to pinpoint them? Are goals really the next step I need? Why is THIS the right one, when many times before THAT was the right one? Are we just seduced to systems that don’t work?
When I type this I do feel abit pessimistic, like maybe I just didn’t have the right support systems, and it wasn’t the goals that was the problem, but the structure to maintain the goals that crumbles. Acknowledge there are forces and feelings inside to manage. That there are always higher ideals and imaginations we could have for ourselves and life. To simply just navigate and sit and write. If this really impacts people ill accept that and welcome it. But in some ways, I’m here for myself. To just type and purge and release and let go.
Here comes the loop again, asking if this is valuable to others. Do others have time. Well. I say there are so many books, movies, things to do, is this fair to be there as well? I don’t know…Maybe none of the other stuff even matters. That’s a thought! Perhaps I’m chasing more stories and knowledge. This is me talking about what I have no background or qualifications to talk about. I’m not certified, I’m just imagining. Imagine if all those things that stop me from reading this peacefully didn’t exist, and there was really just this. Am I caught in a new loop? Where I’ll say “Wow that’s right?” and a day later be stressed I’m not ‘doing’ enough. Maybe it’s impossible to break free from that paradigm, and we will only ever get momentary breaks from it. We will forever be imprisoned by our desire for more information, by living in a world abundant with knowledge.
Well, where to go from here? This feels fun, feels adventurous. I feel experimental, controversial even. I feel like I’m just trying to argue for my own survival here, my own spotlight even. Maybe that too is all a waste of time. I don’t know what is and isn’t anymore. What fits into this box of modern knowledge? This feels more shamanistic, I can just call myself an ‘intuitive writer’, even though I really value education and knowledge. But I keep coming to THIS climax. This point. This moment of questioning, of decision making, of not knowing what to do from here, where to go next, how to reconcile all I’ve done, and how to trust where I’m going next. These blog posts of just chaos unfolding word by word, so neatly and gently. Is this what the world needs, another loop question. Insecurity, another loop. It feels impossible to resist. But my goal is just to name it. To expose it, but it out in the open. Yes I’m adding data and words to an already saturated and filled up internet. There are too many words already, and here I am, filling up the tank again. It’s a contradictory, inner conflict sort of experience.
Ok, this post will end, ill close the laptop, feel relieved, accomplished I wrote something about writing something. Done it before, but this will be a different done it before – a new one. Tomorrow, maybe even tonight, it’ll fade. I’ll watch YouTube, and begin the cycle all over again. Think about dreams and ideas, maybe write some more – capitalize on this new idea I have, just write about whatever comes up. Maybe these inner quarrels and meaningless posts are secretly my meaning. Perhaps I’ve been downplaying the instinct that does come natural. Perhaps I’m supposed to write what others aren’t writing. I just got to be blunt. My subject matter feels like no subject matter. I may read a Tim Ferriss quote and write nothing like him. I can feel myself trying to blend, dilute myself, adapt, and become more like them. It takes a lot of integrity and naiveness to just write what comes up. I can be my own worst fan sometimes. I just write and let it out, hope it manifests into something the world needs. I’m like the invisible painter, the closet designer, my thoughts, probably like many many other writers will just go unnoticed, unimportant, unneeded. The world has survived up until now without them and is still operating. Yet, I’m trying to just be what I am. To just show up and hope that message strikes a chord with someone. Somewhere. That hope is really a thing I chase, maybe that’s the loop. Hoping constantly to find a new way to impact someone, to connect. I’m not planting flags on that idea, for all I know I may deny it and not believe in it ever again, it’s my nature it seems. And that’s hard to accept, but I’m allowing room for it.
So paragraphs shouldn’t be so long, so I’ll hit return button and conclude here. Hope this meant something to someone. Yes maybe Adam should be more focused, educated, clear, deliberate, niche, out of the box, in the box, something. I can’t just keep critiquing myself, at least not write now. Time to just go with the flow and just let it be. Heres to the flow. The loop. Trying to straighten it out into a path.