I want to do it all and nothing.
There is a scorching desire in me to conquer the world. To grow and make something huge of myself. To be renowned and multi-talented. To be looked upon as a vessel of accomplishment, focus and creative determination. To execute my schemes with a calm ferocity and deadly consistency.
And that side of me is at war with the other.
A powerful force opposes it. It is confusion, malaise, depression, indecision, anxiety and distraction. It is the urge to ignore the simple fact that my life is passing in front of my eyes one moment at a time. It is the side of me that cannot figure out what to do or how to do it. It is an inability to put down the bull shit and start.
I derive the most pleasure from my dreams when they're in my head. There, my ego feasts upon them. I listen to podcasts and self-help books and YouTube videos. I feel inspiration rising within me like a junkie shooting up. I pretend this inspiration feeling is progress. I tell myself that absorbing these materials is time well-spent. I'm "learning." I'm "growing."
Beneath this fantasy is a sobering truth: I know it all. These platitudes are not education. They are reaffirmation. I know what I'm supposed to do. All of us do. We want to be writers, performers, business owners, athletes, teachers. Some of us even have an idea of how to make those dreams a reality. Yet, we do not start. We make up stories about why we can't, about how we're unsure or too tired.
Meanwhile, every passing second brings us closer to the end of it all. We are hurtling recklessly toward the moment our eyes close forever and we must look back at the time we spent here on this planet. This moment is a foregone conclusion, inevitable.
As we age, our sense of life's velocity becomes more acute. Days, weeks, months and years pass before we know what's happened. We are deteriorating. And in that inescapable fact, there is infinite beauty and terror. Some interpret time's stranglehold on our lives as a punchline. If we are all drawn to the dust, then what can it matter? What is there to strive for?
Everything.
Our mortality is the linchpin of meaning. It is our slot, our window, our spotlight. The stage is ours. And every single moment IS our big moment. We will never get it again. To pretend that this opportunity is anything less than the most cosmically significant event our human senses will ever behold is cowardice. It is avoidance, it is willful ignorance and it is wrong.
We are not here to be safe.
We are not here to cling to life with such desperation, obsessively preserving our ineffectual browsing and thoughtless consumption. We are here to change. To change ourselves and our surroundings.
We are born to craft, create, grow, build, expand and improve. This inherent compulsion is so fundamental to our existence that we need not define the avenues of these pursuits. They are different for everyone. The meaning each pursuit provides is no less real than another.
But the pursuit of meaning — of craft and growth — is arduous. It is not wholesale fun, but it is fulfilling. It is hard, but it is worth it. It is yin and yang, good and evil, pleasure and pain. It is purpose itself.
The nature of this pursuit is a fundamental law of the universe: Nothing easily attainable sustains us. We need the journey.
Even knowing this, however, does not beget action. We are products of a new generation, the likes of which has never been seen before. In some ways, we are a new breed of human — faced with obstacles brought on by innovation at breakneck speed. Our forefathers conquered for us the challenge of survival. Their achievements have provided us comfort and safety. But our problems are of a new variety: What are we to do with our time? What is our struggle?
Our struggle is taking the first step. We are drawn to the easy path, consumed by distractions. We must step off this path to make our cosmic contributions, to share our unique gifts and perspectives, to create our art.
But taking that first step is dangerous.
It means a proclamation of our intent to the world. It means banishment of the ego in the name of hope, faith, belief. It is not the exciting, adventurous 180 we imagine. It is not snapping laptops over knees and storming out of office buildings. It is not selling all our possessions and buying one-way tickets to Africa (unless that is what must be done).
It is monotonous. It is exhausting. It is grueling repetition. It is monk-like focus and dedication coupled with the briefest bursts of inspiration.
At times, the pursuit is deceptively meaningless. It has every conceivable tool of resistance at its disposal to dissuade us from it.
But we have tools of our own. We are its equal.
The pursuit is a mountain — Unchanging, remorseless, cruel and beautiful.
We are fluidity embodied. Potential energy. We can change who we are on an atomic level. We can adapt. We can mold ourselves into the creatures we need to be. We can become conquerors. We can build intent, discipline, focus, out of nothing. We can become a new machine.
How?
The answer to this question isn't in any form of media we consume, though it is often alluded to. It doesn't take a silent retreat to discover. It doesn't require a lifelong journey to understand. It is painfully, poignantly simple.
We must give it up — all of it.
The anxiety, the judgement, the uncertainty, the fear, the rationality, the over-thinking, the procrastination, the avoidance, the flip-flopping, the addiction, the couch, the phone, the show, the inspiration, the dogma, the quicksand relationship, the toxic influence, the booze, the shitty food, the excuse.
Give it up, take the step now.
Take another step tomorrow, and the next day.
Let the step become a walk, let the walk become a jog, let the jog become a sprint.
We are not to stop sprinting until we crash madly into a laughing, tearful heap at our final resting place.
Then, and only then, can we look back down the mountain and enjoy the view.
I want to do it all and nothing. But I choose the former.