The reduction of ambition rightsizes one’s life. All of a sudden, those magnetic forces, trophies, hefty pocket books, and rich attractions lose their lure.
All the stylization and mimetic desire mean little. The sheep collective drown in the waterfall of white fountains. What matters is cultivating a satisfaction with fomo that becomes intrinsic.
The reward for sitting out or slowing down, being a bit more tortoisey and less harish, is the crunch on speed and desire. The iron fist of action, which radicalizes and tries to reward effort, hath no fury at the onset of patience.
We enjoy the problem of idleness because there is no answer, no reward. Doing and creating nothing anneals the brain toward more mindful patterns.
So we take the foot off the gas and just float.
