Before I begin with the main idea of this post, I would like to say that it feels good to be blogging again. I hope that in my second spell I come up with some wholesome, thought-provoking posts—something more than the immature rants and outbursts that I have been spewing on this blog thus far.
Now for the main post: the paradox of desire
High-adrenalin formulas for success usually tell us that if we really, really want something then nothing can stop us from getting that something. I am sure we have all seen our fair share of suited motivational speakers and success stories on railway station bookstands or glossy posters titled “determination” and “goal” (in red block letters) with a mountain peak in the background.
My ideas are somewhat incongruous with mantras like this. Extreme desire seems to be a repellent for the very things that are desired. Life constantly mocks at us—the more we want something, the more impossible it gets for us to have it. Sky high professional ambitions drive us to the point where we turn into a confused heap of anxiety and frustration; complete devotion or infinite affection seldom form the basis of healthy relationships or friendships. I am not against ambition, desire, or setting goals, but it seems that they are not the sole ingredients in realizing our dreams. The one secret ingredient that must be garnished on top of these things is indifference—only a little pinch of indifference, without which the main course of life is incomplete. However much we love something or someone, we must be able to sit down, take a deep breath, and tell ourselves that nothing is such a big deal that we cannot live without it. The success of a Plan A lies in the presence of a Plan B.
Perhaps this idea is absurd. What about all the great sportsmen, musicians, writers, statesmen, and all of us who have moved on to higher things by not letting our circumstances put out the fire of desire that was within us? Would not the pinch of indifference have been but a full stop to our journey?
So, it turns out that I am still confused. On the one hand, a voice inside me—a voice of an annoyed eight-year-old with clenched fists, almost ready to cry because the world seems too twisted to be fair—seems to tell me that feverishly chasing our dreams is like trying to catch butterflies. On the other, a battle-hardened boxer puts his hands on my shoulders and tells me that if we want something for ourselves, we should be ready to give and take one more blow under the chin.
The only answer I can satisfy myself with is this: all humans are not equal. For some, some things are meant to be; for some others, those some things are not. The key is to accurately predict which of our desires should go into the “not meant” column and which ones into the “this is meant to be” column.
But the journey of self-discovery is the hardest one, and it has more dead ends and detours than any other.
