Is it worse to live in a pit of never-ending hopelessness, or to die trying to get out?
Revisiting our could-be’s and what-ifs has become a routine, a familiarity, perhaps even an odd place of comfort, rather than a force that moves us forward. “At least I’m not like those who don’t give these things any thought“, as if a thought had any measurable value without inspiring some kind of change or action.
If the inception of an idea can be compared to the conception of a fetus, the more we think about it, feed it, the more the idea will grow. However, we will inevitably come to a point where we have to decide whether to bring this mere idea into existence outside of ourselves, tangible and with the potential to influence people around us, or to let that thought perish within us, forgotten, never to see the light of day.
So what if a thought dies? Many thoughts should die, given how many terrible ideas race through our minds every day. But I am not talking about the ones that should die. You and I both know that there are certain thoughts, ones that come from the deepest part of our spirit, that we need to see into fruition. The ideas that breathe life and purpose into us. The thoughts that we can’t afford to let die, for fear that we die with it.
Knowing that we cannot bury these ideas without internal consequences, we instead opted to think about it and talk about it, thus fulfilling our mind’s gnawing urge to action while not effecting any real change. This is a delusion we programmed ourselves into to silence our conscience while we cower in a place of stagnation. Those of us who are just a bit more stubborn however, know that deep down, we can never be satisfied by this delusion. We are wired to challenge status quo, wired to question the things being taught to us, wired to right the wrongs. Wired to change the world.
It’s hard to put into words just how debilitating it is for someone like us to be stuck in a 9-5, making enough to get by, leading an utterly meaningless life, watching time pass by. You’re perpetually tired, but no matter how much you try to rest or relax, you can never be at peace. It’s a never ending cycle of burnout and feeling completely drained of life force. The hopelessness and disappointment creeps in. You’re disappointed by the world, but even more so disappointed by yourself. You hope that someone will see what is happening and help you because you do not have the strength to help yourself. But year after year of people passing you by, seemingly leading happy lives, content with keeping social interactions superficial, you finally give up. You accept that things will never get better, and you’ll never be able to feel what it’s like to be truly happy.
This, we should fear, far more than we fear the uncertainty of change.
At the end of 2023, something clicked for me: Life doesn’t “magically” improve. Things don’t get better when none of the variables change. I could make my bed in the pit of hopelessness, or I can start climbing with the hope that all things will work together for good. I have to follow the thoughts and ideas that I was called to bring to life, and by doing so, everything else will begin to fall into place.
So is it worse to live in a pit of never-ending hopelessness, or to die trying to get out? I am trying with every fibre of my being because I’ve got nothing left to lose. But if I don’t try? I’ve got everything to lose.