On Just Being

We are forward moving creatures. Or perhaps we are simply moving creatures. Being still does not seem to be our strong suite. So much so that we do not even aspire to it. We look at those who are still as lazy and broken like a rusty old car in covered in over grown weeds. Why is this? Why are we so obsessed with movement? It is a part of nature, never to be fully understood just to be wondered about for eternity? What would we look like as a species if we let go or somehow moved past our obsession with movement,with progress? Instinctively  we shy away from the very thought of it. After all we need the economy to forever be running, if the music stopped it would be disastrous. At least we tell ourselves that. At least we write endless papers and polices that support that. At least we bombard ourselves with messages that try so desperately to convince us of that. It is so axiomatic and taken for a given that we never even take a moment to zoom out and contemplate such a reality. What if we stopped aspiring? stopped our endless quest for more? I’m not saying it would be better or worse, I’m not making a judgement or a prediction here. I’m just contemplating and exploring the idea. I have begun to notice that in my personal life I find letting go needing so desperately to grow and move and conquer to be of great relief. I have noticed that I have evolved whether through nurture or nature or both to believe that I cannot be happy being still . Still is death. At least that is what every bone in my body was telling
me. But slowly through noticing and thinking , thinking and noticing, I’ve come to recognize that it is a lie. If I was able to purge myself of that belief I could be deeply happy. I could be happy with enough with not constantly needing to chase and validate my existence to others by being able to show what I have done, what I own or where I have been. I could learn to not need to be famous or popular. If I could somehow purge myself. But all around me everyone is waiting online for hours to buy into it. Waiting and plotting for their chance to get ahead, to conquer, to own. And they look at me funny if I look at them funny. If I could I would obtain enough. A subjective amount of enough. A simple amount of enough. Enough food, enough clothes, enough shelter, enough entertainment. Enough information. I do not need more than enough. I do not need earn the praise of others by signaling to them all that I have accomplished. I can be happy just being, seizing the endless madman dance of going going going.


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