After The Mistake; or, Act Without Motivation
It's been quite a long time since I've written here. I've intended to myriad times over the past few months, but something has always held me back: either my belief that there will be antagonistic readers to what I have to write (as I've fallen out with close friends who I believe still have access to this blog -- I don't know if they would still bother to read it, though), or simply a kind of disconnect with myself that has plagued me over the past few months -- a disconnect that makes it difficult for me to sit and be introspective and touch upon anything useful or interesting. But the impulse has always been there: something within me that wants to express myself in prose, to gather my thoughts, to order my self. I'll try again now. Hold on; I'm gonna crack open a Guinness.
I think I want to do an inventory on my life and internal affairs since having graduated from my masters in philosophy. Hey, that's a thing: I'm a master in philosophy now -- a master. Who am I in 2018? I am an almost twenty-four year-old master in philosophy who aspires to write fiction, but fails to write because his confidence and motivation has been shattered by life in general. He lives in the capital of his country -- an affluent, first-world country -- and is more highly educated than the majority of the population. What does he do with this seemingly privileged status? He works for the minimum wage at a corporate cinema most days, and he drinks alone (or occasionally with friends) on the others. That's what we're working with. I feel stuck in a rut. And I know what my problem is: something in me broke and I no longer believe in myself.
From around the age of 15, I started writing these introspective blog posts, figuring out who I am and how to battle my neuroses, to become the best version of myself. One thing one discovers, however, is that your central nervous system is wired in the particular way it is, and (seemingly) no amount of introspection is going to change that. However, being aware and in concert with the functioning of my flaws did seem to help. I fell majorly in love with a girl in my first year of uni and I messed up that relationship, but with reflection and perseverance, I got through it and became the president of the Philosophy Society, and I found a new set of friends. Although academia was often difficult and would grapple with me as firmly as I grappled with it, I used self-reflection to figure out my procrastinatory predilections, and I built schedules and did well (at least in philosophy). Things were going well. But I wasn't perfect. My admixture of loneliness and quiet egotism caused me to break up with a girlfriend who was very good for me, and it caused me flirt with and pursue an old friend of ten years, who I thought I might have a chance with. An age-old story unfolded: a boy who is genuinely good of heart ends up unintentionally pressuring a close-friend into hooking up because of his persistent, youthful desire. He doesn't read her signs of hesitancy -- not because they're not there, but because he's in his own head, he's self-concerned, and he fails to be more careful. Normally this story might end with an awkward conversation about how what happened was a mistake, how this isn't really what she wants and that they should just be friends, but in my case, my friend of ten years had previously been a victim of rape, and my actions brought back past trauma, and she made that clear to me. She can't forgive me for my stupid, youthful imprudence, and I've come to accept it. Word of what happened between us has spilled out and traveled the grapevine, however, and I've lost more friends to a story that must have been told in a way that maximises my maliciousness. This all happened something like a year and a half ago, and it marks the unraveling of my psyche.
When something like this happens to you, when you're painted as an abuser and you know that image rests in the minds of people out there -- people you used to love, who you thought would be by your side in life forever -- your very self-conception is questioned. When someone ardently tells you you're a bad person and other people begin dropping out of your life, you inevitably wonder whether you are. But you remain in conflict, because you are you -- you know yourself better than any of them do, and you know what was in your mind every step of the way, what you meant to do, what you didn't -- you become the old crazy man in the square, insisting you know the truth, and that everyone else is wrong. Except, in most cases the crazy man really is deluded: he's taken too many drugs, or he's experiencing a sad psychotic break -- but in this situation, the subject in question is what was in your head, what you were thinking, what your intent was. And in this case, you actually know! You have special access. But when you try your hardest and you can't convince your closest friend that you meant no harm and that you're sorry, you end up subconsciously questioning your own internal reality. You are psychically split into two: the part of you that knows you are good and that good people can make mistakes; and the part of you that trusts in the intellect and compassion of your friends, who now think you are no good, deserving of emotional banishment. These two parts live in the same psyche, but they are contradictory and cannot survive together. And they are so so crucial to who you are, but one has to go. You must either deny yourself, and live believing you are rotten; or, you must deny them and concede they got something wrong, and let them go. Either way you're torn -- and believe me, I am torn.
I don't believe I am rotten. I know I'm not. I miss my friends and the life I had before this. But people are fickle, especially the young, so I have to live with this now. It's a new era of my life: After The Mistake. When a new era of your life begins with a heart-wrenching mistake and a fundamental questioning of one's own existence, it makes it difficult to believe in yourself. The kind of strength necessary to be a confident person, a go-getter, is deficient in those who are ravaged at the level of the self. Any work I had built up becoming confident in approaching girls has been knocked back. I'm a fairly attractive person who is reaching (or is in) his physical prime, and it will always be hard for me to approach women now. I don't want to make the same mistakes again. Of course, I won't; I've been taught a lesson the hard way. But a creature that's been beaten will indeed quiver. And I think there's contagion into the other areas of my life too. Not only do I quiver and question myself in romantic pursuits, but I question myself now too in general matters of deserts: whether I deserve success based on my intelligence, my creativity, anything. Do I deserve anything? Goddamn, what a cruel place for one's mind to be placed in.
But I don't know. This is life. You make a mistake, and you have to retaliate; you have to make the best of what you do still have. Those are just words, though. The friends I do still have, I push away, because I'm not sure I deserve them, or I'm afraid I will have to defend myself, and I do not have the vocabulary to defend myself -- I only have my knowledge that I meant no harm and wish I could undo it all. But there is no undo button, so the only way forward is to move on. But I know me, and I dwell. Even as I pretend not to be dwelling, the tear in my psyche has not healed, and it dissuades me from reaching any of the heights I should be aiming for.
There was something I concluded when I was 18 and had fallen out with the girl I had loved most in the world up to that point. I told myself, "basically all I can do is, even in my pain, try to get back on track, even if it may at first seem and feel like a false facade. In the end, these actions I force myself to go through, despite having no motivation to do them, are more likely to produce happiness for me, so I should do them."
That was a very wise conclusion for an eighteen-year old to come to, and I think I forgot the profound truth of it over time, as things got better for me. I forgot that if you expect to only ever act in a positive manner when you're feeling positive, then you confine yourself to darkness and inaction when the light goes out. Sometimes the light goes out and we have to scramble in the darkness for a way to fix the situation, even though we cannot see. Sometimes we don't feel confident, we don't feel deserving, we don't see the point, but if we want happiness to come back, we must act unmotivated.
I'm glad I've stumbled upon this conclusion again, and I hope it helps me in this new era of life.
I think I want to do an inventory on my life and internal affairs since having graduated from my masters in philosophy. Hey, that's a thing: I'm a master in philosophy now -- a master. Who am I in 2018? I am an almost twenty-four year-old master in philosophy who aspires to write fiction, but fails to write because his confidence and motivation has been shattered by life in general. He lives in the capital of his country -- an affluent, first-world country -- and is more highly educated than the majority of the population. What does he do with this seemingly privileged status? He works for the minimum wage at a corporate cinema most days, and he drinks alone (or occasionally with friends) on the others. That's what we're working with. I feel stuck in a rut. And I know what my problem is: something in me broke and I no longer believe in myself.
From around the age of 15, I started writing these introspective blog posts, figuring out who I am and how to battle my neuroses, to become the best version of myself. One thing one discovers, however, is that your central nervous system is wired in the particular way it is, and (seemingly) no amount of introspection is going to change that. However, being aware and in concert with the functioning of my flaws did seem to help. I fell majorly in love with a girl in my first year of uni and I messed up that relationship, but with reflection and perseverance, I got through it and became the president of the Philosophy Society, and I found a new set of friends. Although academia was often difficult and would grapple with me as firmly as I grappled with it, I used self-reflection to figure out my procrastinatory predilections, and I built schedules and did well (at least in philosophy). Things were going well. But I wasn't perfect. My admixture of loneliness and quiet egotism caused me to break up with a girlfriend who was very good for me, and it caused me flirt with and pursue an old friend of ten years, who I thought I might have a chance with. An age-old story unfolded: a boy who is genuinely good of heart ends up unintentionally pressuring a close-friend into hooking up because of his persistent, youthful desire. He doesn't read her signs of hesitancy -- not because they're not there, but because he's in his own head, he's self-concerned, and he fails to be more careful. Normally this story might end with an awkward conversation about how what happened was a mistake, how this isn't really what she wants and that they should just be friends, but in my case, my friend of ten years had previously been a victim of rape, and my actions brought back past trauma, and she made that clear to me. She can't forgive me for my stupid, youthful imprudence, and I've come to accept it. Word of what happened between us has spilled out and traveled the grapevine, however, and I've lost more friends to a story that must have been told in a way that maximises my maliciousness. This all happened something like a year and a half ago, and it marks the unraveling of my psyche.
When something like this happens to you, when you're painted as an abuser and you know that image rests in the minds of people out there -- people you used to love, who you thought would be by your side in life forever -- your very self-conception is questioned. When someone ardently tells you you're a bad person and other people begin dropping out of your life, you inevitably wonder whether you are. But you remain in conflict, because you are you -- you know yourself better than any of them do, and you know what was in your mind every step of the way, what you meant to do, what you didn't -- you become the old crazy man in the square, insisting you know the truth, and that everyone else is wrong. Except, in most cases the crazy man really is deluded: he's taken too many drugs, or he's experiencing a sad psychotic break -- but in this situation, the subject in question is what was in your head, what you were thinking, what your intent was. And in this case, you actually know! You have special access. But when you try your hardest and you can't convince your closest friend that you meant no harm and that you're sorry, you end up subconsciously questioning your own internal reality. You are psychically split into two: the part of you that knows you are good and that good people can make mistakes; and the part of you that trusts in the intellect and compassion of your friends, who now think you are no good, deserving of emotional banishment. These two parts live in the same psyche, but they are contradictory and cannot survive together. And they are so so crucial to who you are, but one has to go. You must either deny yourself, and live believing you are rotten; or, you must deny them and concede they got something wrong, and let them go. Either way you're torn -- and believe me, I am torn.
I don't believe I am rotten. I know I'm not. I miss my friends and the life I had before this. But people are fickle, especially the young, so I have to live with this now. It's a new era of my life: After The Mistake. When a new era of your life begins with a heart-wrenching mistake and a fundamental questioning of one's own existence, it makes it difficult to believe in yourself. The kind of strength necessary to be a confident person, a go-getter, is deficient in those who are ravaged at the level of the self. Any work I had built up becoming confident in approaching girls has been knocked back. I'm a fairly attractive person who is reaching (or is in) his physical prime, and it will always be hard for me to approach women now. I don't want to make the same mistakes again. Of course, I won't; I've been taught a lesson the hard way. But a creature that's been beaten will indeed quiver. And I think there's contagion into the other areas of my life too. Not only do I quiver and question myself in romantic pursuits, but I question myself now too in general matters of deserts: whether I deserve success based on my intelligence, my creativity, anything. Do I deserve anything? Goddamn, what a cruel place for one's mind to be placed in.
But I don't know. This is life. You make a mistake, and you have to retaliate; you have to make the best of what you do still have. Those are just words, though. The friends I do still have, I push away, because I'm not sure I deserve them, or I'm afraid I will have to defend myself, and I do not have the vocabulary to defend myself -- I only have my knowledge that I meant no harm and wish I could undo it all. But there is no undo button, so the only way forward is to move on. But I know me, and I dwell. Even as I pretend not to be dwelling, the tear in my psyche has not healed, and it dissuades me from reaching any of the heights I should be aiming for.
There was something I concluded when I was 18 and had fallen out with the girl I had loved most in the world up to that point. I told myself, "basically all I can do is, even in my pain, try to get back on track, even if it may at first seem and feel like a false facade. In the end, these actions I force myself to go through, despite having no motivation to do them, are more likely to produce happiness for me, so I should do them."
That was a very wise conclusion for an eighteen-year old to come to, and I think I forgot the profound truth of it over time, as things got better for me. I forgot that if you expect to only ever act in a positive manner when you're feeling positive, then you confine yourself to darkness and inaction when the light goes out. Sometimes the light goes out and we have to scramble in the darkness for a way to fix the situation, even though we cannot see. Sometimes we don't feel confident, we don't feel deserving, we don't see the point, but if we want happiness to come back, we must act unmotivated.
I'm glad I've stumbled upon this conclusion again, and I hope it helps me in this new era of life.
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