Posted in Musings

Tightrope Living

Precarious. That’s the adjective closest to how I feel these days. Walking on a tight rope from one day to the next, balancing my emotions and trying not to be lured to free-fall into the abyss below my feet. Every step seems to carry the weight of my existence. And it is made heavier by the load of some very real responsibilities I have shouldered and evaded for far too long – ones that need to be addressed acutely.

I made a to-do list (again) today, and took a long hard look at it. Some are personal projects. Others are work-related commitments. Some will help me tap into a rare and glorious opportunity for personal growth. Some have people counting on me and believing that I won’t fail them. All of them are promises made, and a question of integrity. And I have been falling short.

The personal financial account that I had been meticulously maintaining for over a year is a mess. My house as well as the hostel room I share with MB are a mess. I’m skipping dance classes. My plans and needs and wants and hopes are all over the place. And I can’t seem to find the energy to clean the excel sheet or the cabinets or my mind. I watch the clutter build, and sigh in resignation.

We judge ourselves by what we feel capable of doing, while others judge us by what we have done.

– Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

I found this quote today at a website that I’ve been frequenting lately. This made me wonder about all the ways I’ve been mis-judging myself. On the one hand, I identify as someone with a lot of potential but on the other, I am highly self-critical for not realising those potentials. On the one hand, I brand myself as someone without purpose and yet remain cognizant of the privileges I enjoy. I taunt myself consistently for falling short and still continue to forgive my lack of attempts at change. In spite of recognising my capabilities, I spend too much time focusing on the limitations and use the latter as a shield against self-actualisation, against getting things done.

I realise there is only so much time one can spend fantasizing about life and death. My excel sheet isn’t going to correct itself. My hopes and dreams and pending assignments aren’t going to magically align themselves into fruition as I lie in my bed, hugging a stuffed toy. The dirt isn’t going anywhere. I too need to start judging myself for what I have done.

I look up from the abyss, and reach out to grab the mop.

Author:

A wayward thinker hiding behind the facade of necessary courtesies

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