I haven’t posted on this blog in a while, but I do want to assure you that I’m a lot less depressed than I was when I wrote my last post. I’d never had Seasonal Affective Disorder before and it was tough to deal with.
Anyway, on the writing front, this is an update to say I’m going to stop posting on this blog and let my subscription to this platform lapse, which means the blog will disappear in September 2024.
Although I’ve always been very reflective, I haven’t found much fulfillment in writing about feelings, observations and high-level concepts, as I have done on this blog.
Lately I’ve been finding more success with other forms of writing. I thrive when I tell stories based on concrete facts and lived experiences. In these cases, I might drop in a small reflection here and there, but largely leave the audience to reflect on it themselves, and come to their own philosophical conclusions, if they want to.
I figured this out on stage: through storytelling, speech-making, MCing, comedy and improv. The immediate feedback and energy of the audience lights me up. Although that spark doesn’t happen every single time, it’s all part of the package.
Off-stage, I’m working on personal projects that have a longer lead time, are harder to get right, and may never see the light of day. That may sound terribly unmotivating but I’m enjoying the process. I may blog again, depending on how things go.
Thank you so much for reading and being part of my journey.
It sometimes feels like we live in a world that makes us sad, but we’re not allowed to actually say we are.
It’s like something I read yesterday when I was doomscrolling on Instagram. That in patriarchal societies, one common way to keep women lower in the hierarchy is to claim that they are each other’s worst enemy, and pit them against each other. This gives them someone to blame for their troubles, and something to focus on – a sense of direction, however misguided.
In a similar way, the sad world pits us against our own selves, by encouraging us to resist and feel shame about our natural expressions of our full range of emotions. In this way, we are distracted from the real cause of our sadness.
So we try to fix ourselves. And sometimes it works. We develop healthy morning routines, diet, exercise, community, fulfilling work. We create youtube and instagram and tiktok accounts to share our hard-earned learnings.
I’ve struggled with anxiety most of my life. It is always there, thrumming along in the background. And when things get extra stressful or uncertain, the anxiety flares up. If my brain is a page and thoughts are the words, during stressful times the anxious thoughts grow from a tiny, unobtrusive font to a bold, italic, all-caps nightmare overwhelming the page. But it doesn’t let up when life gets quieter. When the page is clearer, the small font size suddenly seems not so small anymore. And then it’s all I can focus on.
That’s been happening lately during my much-needed time off during the holiday season. I’ve been using this break not only to relax, but also – importantly – to process recent challenging events. So it was never going to be all peachy. But to add to that, my longtime friend anxiety has decided to pop by for a visit. Medium font size at best – but hard to ignore.
So this morning, I decided we should have a little chat. I asked my anxiety why it blocks me from feeling joy more often. Here is how the conversation went.
I’m pretty surprised and impressed by how many people are in therapy these days. Sometimes I'll casually mention therapy in conversation with an acquaintance, and then it turns out they've got a therapist too. And most have said they were enriched by it, regardless of whether they have a diagnosable mental health condition or not. No matter how your mental health is, it seems that having a guide to help us know ourselves better makes a noticeable difference to our lives.
Or does it?
We've also all heard about people who go to therapy for years and seemingly make minimal progress. It can even be tempting even to use this as 'evidence' to dismiss therapy as mere woo-woo, or therapists as money-grabbing hacks. And indeed, sometimes the therapist just isn't that good at their job. Or sometimes they are good, but not the right fit for the client. While those are important issues to consider, for this article I’d like to look at another angle.
Parents these days have a hard time. They want their kids to know they’re special and can do anything, but also don’t want them to be entitled and selfish. And with the internet and social media, there’s more information available than ever before about the kinds of issues parenting can cause to kids, from attachment problems to all types of weird perceptions of reality (just look at psychologist Mary Trump’s book on her uncle Donald). I am sure it intimidates even the most loving, well-meaning parents.
But this post isn’t going to go into all that. I just want to share that I had a very interesting conversation with my colleague, who made me aware of the dilemma. He wants to ensure his kids are humble and understand that they’re not special in the grand scheme of things – but also, that they are special and can achieve great things in life. While also knowing that this doesn’t give them the right to act entitled. Not to mention that this paradox is too complicated for most young minds. What’s a parent to do?
I decided to share with him a concept I’ve been mulling over in my own life. As humans, we’re not isolated beings – we are irrevocably affected by others. We exist in a massive, complex network connecting all 7.5+ billion people in the world (as well as animals and other living beings). Energy is constantly flowing between us, and can be simplified as ‘giving’ and ‘taking’.
So in that context, what makes you special is what you can give to the world. Being special does not entitle you to take. As a non-parent, I can’t say how well this would work in parenting. But it did give my colleague pause – to him, this solved the dilemma. Perhaps this concept can solve other dilemmas too?
In my final year at secondary school, I started a discussion forum. Unsatisfied with the competitiveness of debate clubs, I wanted to create a safe space where people could share and listen to views on philosophical questions and current affairs. This was intended for everyone to benefit from – not just the people who ‘won’ the conversation.
Discussing big ideas
My discussion forum concept was modeled on what I’d read about the ancient Greek democratic system: people (OK, men) would assemble in the town square, share their views and listen to others. In the end, they’d vote on what to do. I respected this raw and uncomplicated process, but what really interested me was the conversation before the vote. Of course, people generally wanted to convince others to come round to their side. But what I was most curious about was the people who were receptive enough to accept being convinced.
In secondary school, I was probably the last person my classmates would have expected to campaign for head student. Everyone knew that it was just a popularity contest. And as a quiet nerd who generally busied myself with amassing good grades and not attracting attention, I was obviously not qualified for the job.
So why did I campaign? Was I deluded? Did I suddenly WANT the attention, after spending most of my school life avoiding it as much as possible? With my timid, un-confident manner, what would I have even done with all that head-student influence anyway? And who did I think was going to vote for me in the first place?
I was around 8 years old, having breakfast at my aunt and uncle's place. Or, to be more exact, I was sitting at the table, staring into space, while ignoring the breakfast items in my general vicinity.
Obviously, I hadn't gone there to think. It's a relative's house, so the objective is to eat. And that meant my uncle's assessment was correct: I indeed was thinking too much.
Thinking or daydreaming?
The thing is, I thought my uncle made no sense at all. In my 8 year old mind, I figured: in school, all day, every day they tell us to think. At home, I don't want to do stupid things, like break stuff, so I have to use my brain. Is there really such a thing as too much thinking? I thought not.
And also, “thinking” wasn't even what I was doing. I was daydreaming.
Some of you know I recently started a blog on WordPress called The Wonderer. I described it as “A blog for those who like to go on little brain journeys – no map provided.”
What I was trying to do was force my blog into a theme: a targeted space for people who like to think and wonder about things. The last thing I wanted was to create an unstructured, unpredictable pile of content with no clear aims. I didn’t want to be one of those bloggers who waxes lyrical about my mediocre breakfast and expects people to care. So I figured a theme would help me focus and ensure you know what to expect.
The trouble is, the ‘wonderer’ angle never really sat right with me, despite being such a general theme with space for many topics. Yes, I do ponder and postulate, ruminate and reflect. But that’s not all. I also have perspectives and views that come from lived experience and rigorous observation. And I think they are worth reading too.
When it comes down to it, what I really want is a place to share what’s in the little universe inside my head. You’re invited to join me, but as with any invitation, it’s entirely up to you whether you accept. And if you do, I’m grateful.