Dissolved into data, we produce a feast of trackable interactions.
They are the editors as much as much we are the authors. While we create everything, they produce nothing, yet the internet still owns our words.
attention merchants munch on the aggregate and peel off the niches into targeted prey.
Our eyeballs are the oil, primed, pumped, and then
exhausted into tanks of consumption.
Monetization of the ego starts at birth, built for entertainment in the first place. We make, make, make until we are over-marked and
sold to the highest bidder.
Look for a way of life, unmoored from staring at the donut
Conversely, the hybrid of work and life is what makes the donut
The game of goal-setting is paradoxically non-interventionist.
You don’t attack the carrot, you chew on it slowly.
The policy of
non-engagement holds into force the inertia of nature’s progress.
Overworked and lost in the myriad force of competition and conformity, you inevitably emerge with fewer exuberant efforts and more residual impact.
What remains is essential, remarkably slow, vanished is the hurry.
“No need to hurry. No need to sparkle. No need to be anybody but oneself.” —
You can never feel alone when you’re enjoying yourself.
Like a magnet, you’re drawn to do what we’re born to do. The vocation calls you like an ambient siren song dangling emotional clarity.
The goals that forced upon you are often dreary. They produce zero enjoyment, so fraught with ‘
ought,’ threatening to stain the attentiveness to the present. Keep your eyes on the prize.
The intuitive self, while sometimes feeling detached, invites you to travel down the road of discomfort for a long time.
Pursue the strength you think you have and embrace the pain.
The middle of the road is already too full of indecisive fence-sitters suffering at the glitch of mental software called FEAR.
It’s the hope that kills you.
Hope is that tease of an emotional tug that keeps you on edge, craving for fruition.
But no matter how much you pray and imagine, it mostly yields nothing.
Hope is hopeless.
Luck is an idea that guarantees to hover over circumstance. Who doesn’t want the calm-inducing pacifier of a million dollars in one’s bank account?
Hope hunts down luck in the search of editing your own future. Good fortune almost always, never happens. You can only hope to feel it’s possibility.
“It is six A.M., and I am working. I am absentminded, reckless, heedless of social obligations, etc. It is as it must be. The tire goes flat, the tooth falls out, there will be a hundred meals without mustard. The poem gets written. I have wrestled with the angel and I am stained with light and I have no shame. Neither do I have guilt. My responsibility is not to the ordinary, or the timely. It does not include mustard, or teeth. It does not extend to the lost button, or the beans in the pot. My loyalty is to the inner vision, whenever and howsoever it may arrive. If I have a meeting with you at three o’clock, rejoice if I am late. Rejoice even more if I do not arrive at all.
There is no other way work of artistic worth can be done. And the occasional success, to the striver, is worth everything.
The most regretful people on earth are those who felt the call to creative work, who felt their own creative power restive and uprising, and gave to it neither power nor time.”
Mary Oliver, Upstream: Selected Essays
We practice and then we walk away. We get out of our heads and go for a walk, a swim, make a cup of coffee — whatever disengagement there is.
Taking a break isn’t quitting. It’s letting neurons go to work without forcing them to.
Competence comes without comprehension. Nature cuts though the intellectual. We’re born to chase the to-do list but also do nothing.
Unhindered, we move like water over rocks. And the coffee pours itself, like magic.
Inattentive, we let the details slip right through our heads.
We are in a state of continuous partial attention, whipped around by facts, fake news, hyperbole, and reality.
The foreign invaders monopolize our “private” profiles and manipulate the entire public sphere into tribes that all think and see alike.
We turn a blind eye to the pleasant rhythm of dissent while also marching to the beat of our own drum.
To stop admiring our own words and lookalikes, and to start interrogating our own ideas.
gif via sambmotion
We take a
retrospective report, this time with the prospect old various viewpoints.
When we look back at our own history, it only makes sense now and never then. We can only see as the neurons emit.
The future prohibits knowledge
Gathering experience increases one’s attentiveness toward ambient hints. Age is hypnotic, it compels us to notice and thereby prevent the patterns and vices we originally pursued.
“The creative part of us gets tired of waiting. Or just gets tired.” —
We may have to live things twice in order to figure out what to do next. The coexistence of both hope and despair push us through the
From the cave to smartphones and onto the next magic wand, the fun is in the hunt to figure out what’s on the other side of the rainbow.
You can’t make anything in the
forest stand still. It is in constant flux, whether that’s in seasons, wildfires, or in the territory marking of a killer bear.
Nature is fickle. It calls for preparedness and a broad scope.
“You can’t see the forest for the trees.”
One must not only have a plan in trekking the forest also but remain on guard. As the saying goes, “You can’t see the forest for the trees.”
Proximity can be blinding. Looking at the individual trees clouds the big picture just as the donut hole takes your eyes off the whole donut.
Linearity isn’t as important as a deliberate wandering, with eyes open to the vastness of seeing.
Let the forest speak.
Belief+Doubt by Barbara Kruger
We dump our problems on tomorrow because we can’t handle the anxiety of today.
Time keeps moving on its way, unimpeded. We’ve already lost.
Yet there’s still a sense that one day, we’ll snatch time and ride the wave of an opportunity to change society.
‘Belief + Doubt = Sanity’
All we can do is show up to the world, not hide behind in its shadows. ‘
Excellence is the next five minutes,’ and then the next five minutes after. And so on, with unparalleled lightness.
Attitude is the most rational day to day decision. Only then can we go on a critical run.
With the right instructions, the unfamiliar becomes manageable.
We follow the recipe with the hope that the convoluted reality seeps away into the
Yet, had we followed our instincts we may not have gotten stuck in the first place.
If we don’t take
Google Maps with a grain of salt, we will find ourselves submerged under water.
Knowledge is visceral. The rest is streaming.
gif by Sharon Liu
The blank page doesn’t write itself. It stares at you, pleading for you to quit and move on to something else.
Those who persist pace themselves into unfamiliar territory. A big bang does no artist any good. What matters is not the end result, but pushing through in a gradual approach.
Creators strive for
long-term serotonin over the short-shock dopamine.
They’re the ones that embrace vulnerability. They dance with fear while building up the bicep of the brain. Confidence speaks as if it were alone, dying to go public.
The barrier lies within the self. It tries to impede greater
personal growth. You are your own worst enemy of nuclear insignificance.
To wait in the ambiguous middle while everyone else flies by on the racetrack of certainty.
Doing the work is a conscious anxiety-ridden habit, but it can run with it like a GIF loop. Chances are if you did it yesterday you can do it again today.
The race to patience is on. It’s settling that’s the problem.
gif by hoppip
The body is a
The mind is a
We can’t duck our own presence, nor avoid our own answers. We know what we have to do. Anticipation enlivens us.
Anxiety validates our heart space.
Fight or flight, we are free to think as tenants of Earth, renting its oxygen. As
Kipling wrote, ‘Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it.’
We cultivate our existence. We chase fear and
endure pain to feel more alive.
The show goes on, whether we show up or not.
gif by mestrefungo
The space between our ears, where what we know or think we know contrasts the reality of what we should see.
We are the opposite of a child, turning a blind eye to the openness that foments growth. As adults, we stop asking why at the most fundamental level.
Stuck in a cobweb of exciting lies, unable to dust away the boredom of truth. Reality is too sober, but that’s also why it works. It keeps us grounded in