My Journey

I don't need to eat, scroll, watch, or play in order to be happy. I don't need to sleep, rest, recover, or work out. The most fundamental quality of happiness is  ego desilution. To be empty, grounded, and present in the moment. But that is the natural state of a person who is perfectly healthy. A healthy person is not in an eternal state of flow. He/she also experience ups and downs, in both productivity and slumber. A living organism grows, thrives, starves, and faces roadblocks. It experiences periods of decay where it sheds the unnecessary, and becomes lighter. Life is a continuous process of creation and destruction. A microcosm of the universe in action. Yet, it can be said that in the ideal environment, a creature has no need to ponder such notions. Imagine a country landscape where you have to grow crops, hunt, trade, and secure your means of survival. Come nightime, you gather around the table with your family and the community at large, and break bread together. Child...

Today was a peculiar day. Many things happened that were rather unusual. My sister came home and surprised us. I struggled with my goals as usual. I felt a lot of things, both new and old. A heavy mix of good and bad. Feeling an urge to calm it down, I try to end the turbulent state with a conclusion. After all, there's no point at all in thinking and feeling unnecessarily. Life is just as much about doing as it is about all that stuff. I've seen, heard, and listened a lot in my life. I've never been very funny or super confident. That's why I feel it's time for things to change. I spend so much of my time trying to change myself and prepare of something new, it feels like I miss the point. Today is the strangest of days, I almost didn't even feel like writing here, because the thought exhausted me. I feel a tinge of disgust over myself, and where I am in life. That's the part that's usual. Yet, I saw and met with many others today, who made me feel like...

I had a whole thing planned out for this entry. In fact, I had a bunch of plans for today. But the truth is, I am really disturbed. This morning, I woke up to find the news headline of how they bombed a hospital in Gaza, or Israel, or which ever. It was horrifying enough on its own, but later on a news came out that it was just an accident. I chaled it up to the horros of armed conflict, but the internet's obsession with the macarb knows no bounds and I was bombarded with the news in various ways online. I was totally fine with it, I even felt a responcibilty to see it, as I usually do. There was a telling  public address by the hospital survivors and administration. The look of absolute horror in the eyes of the main doctor was bone-chilling and spoke volumes. Now, the depth of darkness in the world is not a new thing, but I believe that it's better for each person to decide the degree to which they wish to expose themselves to it. After all, the abyss stares right back. Admit...

Some days, I just stare at the blank page, and nothing comes to mind. What is it that I had wanted to note down? How did I want to remember today? Normally, I think of something during the day and it makes me feel something. I hold on to that thought to explore it further at night. That is what I ahve been doing. I'm sure I had a couple of ideas today as well. Yet at the moment I am drawing a blank. I do know one thing, though, everytime I sit down to work, cross by a mirror, or go down the stairs, my bulging belly disgusts me. I feel ashamed and like I should cry about it. Yet today I felt like ordering something anyway. I did not, I just ate more from home than perhaps necessary. Once the hunger was gone, so were the cravings. I feel like I'm at a point where I know what's what. I know pretty well the reasons behind my current physical state, and ecatly what I need to do in order to imporve it. I see no value in contemplating upon it any longer. Writing itself tires me ou...

I have work to do, things to take care of, and rest to be had for tomorrow. Yet, just as I suspected, writing here does embolden my convictions. It seems to set my intentions, like the cock of a shotgun or loading a rifle, perhaps. What I more likely do is empty my thoughts, feelings, and experiences here, which leaves room for more the next day. It's probably a bit of both, and then some. It's uncany how much weight I have put on. I jogged on the spot today, and the amount of flabbing mass I could feel swinging around my surface was alarming, to say the least. There was a time at night where I once again thought about ordering out. The two meals I ate seemed excessive by older dieting standards. Ususally when I ate this much, I felt bloated and heavy. Yet today, I felt satiated and calm after consuming a sizabl amount. Yet I seem to have a better handle on things. Slowly but surely. Success, pride, and confidence feel unlikely, to say the least. The notions seem far far away, ...

I do strive to write something for myself everyday. I've made a commitment to myself that this journal should be it. It seems managable, doable, and worthwhile. Especially since I recently noticed what a massive difference writing here amde in my state of mind. I've failed more times than I can count in my life. In the past year alone, I have decided to do something and failed to stick to it more than ever before in my life. It's left me in a bad shape physically, easily my worst ever, thus far. To think that it can get worse from here is a terrifying notion indeed. While I put in my entry of the bare minimum I could muster, I hold myself back. I feel a bit traumatized by the countless derailments I have faced on my journey, and even though I have little awareness of why and even my mind has failed to find any decent solution to one of the major potential causes, I can't help but continue this useless struggle. Maybe if I slow down it'll work. Maybe I need to go har...

I did leave out a couple of rather important details yesterday about the topics of conversation and my ideal day. For one, there was the fact that an old aquaintance from school hit me up asking where he could buy drugs, and when I asked him if he wants to talk about it instead, he was more than unwilling to. All he said was that he knows he fucked up and that he's in a bad palce. I'm not taking that personally, I only offered to talk because I would want to in his shoes, and I think that's better for him than just taking drugs. I suppose talking doesn't always help. Especially when a person already has it figured out or is already overwhelmed. I think a good conversation can help a lot, though. Anyway, I just throught it was interesting.  Then comes the fact about my ideal say. I mentioned all these external metrics that I can measure and achieve, which will logocally lead me to a better life over time. A healthier body, more confidence, a free and calm mind that works...

I suppose there is a time and place for everything. I imagined that my struggles with self-discipline would give me neverending empathy for others. Having failed so terribly would remain with me in my bones, and the memory would keep me from ever becoming condescending and insensitive. The warmth and generosity of shared struggle and mutual failures would become a solemn symbol of the wretched. We could find company with each other. That could be a tribe for me to belong to. Yet, comfort is a feeling no less in my control than the thoughts a person chooses to think. Is being a safe haven for every wretched sinner indeed the best way for me to serve them? The core lesson I learned from my experiences these past months might have been that a man is very much the product of his environment. The people he associates with, the life he has led, his circumstances, and the things that have happened to him. All of it playing a vital hand in his current state of being. So perhaps, I could acknow...

I've been stuck for a long time now. Stopped writing here in order to focus on my work that "actually paid me money." But here I am, taking my paycheck without having done anything anyway. At least in August, I felt better, having had an outlet to express myself with. I just felt sick of talking and talking about things without doing anything. I got so sick of feeling like I wasn't making any progress that I tried to focus on one thing at a time. I failed miserably. I've never been so unproductive in my life and I'm beyond even feeling bad about it at all. I was feeling like I was bitching about things, writing about my feelings, the things I wanted to do, the things Iw as gong to do, there was just too much talk in general. That's why I thought I'll stop writing here and focus all my attention on doing. Surely some execution would put me at ease, and I could pick this up again once I've accomplished something more tangible. Here I am, a month late...