Masochism actually makes sense. On two counts.
One, in the immortal words of Meredith Grey, "Why do I keep hitting myself with a hammer? Because it feels so good when I stop..." Medicine would have no value, if not for pain and disease.
And on a related count, there is a motivation to work harder, to triumph. To impress and to make that unforgiving point - "I'm better than you think". When in truth, one is only revising one's estimate of oneself, as a function of inputs from irrelevant external agents. So it's really "There is a "me" that you are imagining that I can or cannot be... I don't know if I like that person, but I know I can be it."
It's really a fleeting thought, this input in that 'somebody elses' mind. The input that we seek and incorporate into our being. Something with so little value in the originator, turning into the single most annoying thorn in one's side.
Life never was meant to be fair.
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
Sunday, January 4, 2009
the curse of the active imagination
sometimes, it feels like i live most of my life inside my head. and not in the wildly creative sort of way. it's not even terribly entertaining.
i imagine conversations that i want to have, the ones i'll never really dare to anyway. where i am this person that i don't even think i want to be. when the situation presents itself, the conversation plays back in my head, and it's almost as if i'm watching myself from a distance, and i'm so busy laughing at myself, at the very idea that i might be that brave. and then the moment passes, and so does my opportunity to impress my own pathetic self.
i think this sort of insecurity, and insufficiency of the self, is the most tragic disease one can suffer.
i imagine conversations that i want to have, the ones i'll never really dare to anyway. where i am this person that i don't even think i want to be. when the situation presents itself, the conversation plays back in my head, and it's almost as if i'm watching myself from a distance, and i'm so busy laughing at myself, at the very idea that i might be that brave. and then the moment passes, and so does my opportunity to impress my own pathetic self.
i think this sort of insecurity, and insufficiency of the self, is the most tragic disease one can suffer.
Friday, January 2, 2009
Happy New Year!
So I missed the bus. I resolved with mighty resolve that I'd make a fresh start on 01/01/2009, but I blame it on the digits - they add up to a frightful 13, and promise all kinds of scares for the rest of the year. Perhaps starting (again) on such a date wouldn't have been most cosmically favourable.
But still, there is much to be thankful for, and much much more to be hopeful for.
I have perhaps made some of the best decisions of my life last year. I sometimes wonder if I have simply set myself up for disaster, or if I am finally shaking off my lifelong insistance at being a moron-child.
So this shall be the year of living with one's decisions from last year. And making tougher ones.
Also known as growing up, in some cultures.
Oh boy.
But still, there is much to be thankful for, and much much more to be hopeful for.
I have perhaps made some of the best decisions of my life last year. I sometimes wonder if I have simply set myself up for disaster, or if I am finally shaking off my lifelong insistance at being a moron-child.
So this shall be the year of living with one's decisions from last year. And making tougher ones.
Also known as growing up, in some cultures.
Oh boy.
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