January 11, 2021•810 words
The problem with starting.
Whenever I try to start something – like whatever this is – I feel the need to wait for the "close to perfect idea". When I find something I consider a close to perfect idea, I might decide to sit down – just to realize that I need a close to perfect beginning.
So this is what I am doing right now: sitting here, writing about how I try to write – and how I fail with it.
It's seems quite sad, that this is the best I could come up with. My creativity at its peak. amazing.
Still, I probably should be proud of myself for even writing this much. Two days ago I found this app and thought "wow that sounds amazing, if I download this App, I might finally start writing again". Well, as you see, I downloaded it. Just to wait for two days, before even starting to write something ("something" being this little piece of work). Impressive Noah. Really impressive.
This attitude of not doing things I know I should do really annoys me about myself.
I've tried starting to meditate regularly at least five times. Five bloody times. But still, to this day, I haven't even come close to making this a habit of myself. I always find some kind of excuse. There's always something.
"oh it's already late", "hm I need to do this first",
"let's just finish this video, and then I'll start with it",
"you're too tired, if you'd start right now you'll just fall asleep".
There I am again, trying to start a habit of writing. Will I succeed or will I fail?
– I know already.
This attitude of bringing self-fullfilling prophecies over myself really annoys me about myself.
I think somewhere deep down I am convinced that I am a looser. I mean, I probably am. When I was young, everyone always thought of me, as some kind of "smart kid". Everyone always thought I'd be some kind of perfect student.
No one ever taught me, how to be self-disciplined. Why? Cause honestly, I didn't need it. at first. School was easy, so I never had to learn much. Now I'm starting to see how hard some subjects can be. I'm starting to feel my limits. I haven't reached them yet, but this is – in regards to school – one of the first times, when I realize "wow, I don't think I get it".
I think our societies glorification of intelligence is something both quite problematic. The really "succesful" people, surely, aren't stupid – Though, in my opinion, their main advantage isn't understanding something fast, but instead it is them being able to just do something.
They don't wait three days to write a half decent inner monologue.
They don't fail five time trying to learn a sort of useful habit.
And they certainly, don't spend all their time doing what I do.
No. They are just somehow able to sit down and say "Seems like I'll write a bit today", and then – then they do it. As simple as that.
I'm absolutely convinced that this ability is far more useful than what is commonly referred to as "intelligence", especially given that many "intelligent" people probably fall into this hole of lack of self-motivation.
Funny, isn't it? I just realized that I, more or less unintentional, called myself intelligent. It is a last, desperate attempt of my subconscious to justify self-worth.
Something quite pathetic, I'd say.
Well. It doesn't matter really, does it? In the end we're all equal. The intelligent people aren't intrinsically worth more than anyone else. Neither are the discplined. We're all on the same ball of stone and dirt, flying through endless space, thinking we're special.
Funny isn't it? We try creating classes, hiearchies, order. It is a last, desperate attempt of us, trying to justify some sort of value or worth, we think we deserve.
Something quite heroic, surely.
A fight against meaninglessness, against nihilism. The greatest war of all and we're part of it. Proud warriors, holding up the proof we found. "Which proof you ask?" – the greatest proof. The one justifying all of it. The final one even.
"What is it, though?", you ask. That is a question I cannot answer, for the number of names it has, is infinte.
Some call it money, capital, or success.
Others prefer to сall it by different names: Power, influence, or authority, they say.
We shouldn't forget the last group, the one thinking of themselves as the smartest. They think love, happiness, or joy are what justifies our hunger for meaning.
It is quite ridiculous sometimes. Everyone tries to justify it, but we don't realize who we're justifying it from: Ourselves.
We're are the only the ones that care. The only that ever cared. that ever will care.