"The mass of men lead lives of Quiet Desperation"
Who are we? We are perfectionists.
What do we do? We perform. We prove. We judge.
What is our badge of honor? Exhaustion.
What are we worth? Our productivity.
What do we demand? Certainty.
Where does it leave us?
It leaves us addicted to panic despite the fact that we’ll do anything to stay comfortable. Comfort has a deafening roar to it these days. We are comforted by the white noise distortion of a 24-hour-information-cycle. We are comforted by the continual buzz of mechanized, social interaction that’s always on vibrate. We are comforted by the bullhorn in our head that trumpets how unworthy we are of our own lives. These constant jabs to our lizard brain make us feel in control of the uncontrollable. Our panic steadies us. We can’t keep up with its pace – but with time on our hands (and a hair-trigger reaction against silence or stillness) – we die trying.
Solitude, a fundamental human experience, is becoming elusive for an entire generation. We don’t know how to be alone with our selves – and as a result we only know how to be lonely.
Where do we dwell today?
What is truly necessary for our life in that dwelling?
How do we tell the difference between the alarm bell of survival and the spasm of desire or fear?
Will we ever give ourselves permission to feel vulnerable?
How much farther still can we grow from one another?
We can see the world coming apart around us, but how do we fail to perceive what is unraveling inside of us?