On the struggles of the mind
One thing I’ve always been interested in is the thread connecting all the dots of who I am as a person. Maybe for you it’s easy, but for me it’s far from it. If you were to ask me what my interests are I could probably come up with an answer fairly easily, but if you asked my why I’m interested in those things that is something I don’t have an answer to. And I find that endlessly fascinating.
Why is my mind the way it is? Why do I find these particular things interesting? Why do I struggle with other things? Those are all questions I obviously don’t have the answer to. But throughout my relatively short life I think I was always drawn towards these kind of questions. And I still am. And if I look closely I can see the thread running through all my interests: my passion for a certain type of minimalism, my appreciation for silence, my love of nature, my interest in meditation. I realise now that I’m probably looking for an answer to a particular question. What question, though, I don’t really know. And I’m not entirely sure it matters, honestly. My mind is finicky, fragile, and complex, and an endless source of pain and struggle. And that’s OK.