During their brief trysts of speaking to each other for a few minutes, he had noticed a sudden spurt in his productivity levels lasting at least for the next thirty minutes, from the aftermath of their parting, a semi-conscious state of being, resembling the gentle sound of ocean waves incoming towards the shore, coupled with the smell of lush coconut trees, their branches flapping against the strong winds which seemed intent to chide it for enjoying such beauty for the entirety of its life span.
His senses reached a state of high alert when his phone buzzed as soon as he reached his work desk. It was a spam caller. Shrugging a little, he decided to grab a plate from the community kitchen downstairs, and let himself loose on the bread and peanut butter he kept inside his drawer at all times, each bread consignment being replaced by another every three days without fail, almost like clockwork.
The green tea he had sipped with her had calmed him, treating the slimy bile laying waste near his throat more gently than he would have liked. It did the trick though, the itchy feeling that had been bothering him since morning courtesy a nicotine withdrawal from the past two days was almost gone, and he felt like doing a whooping action with a hoarse yell, but decided not to, since she would have thought he was weird, or worse lame. Weird was fine but lame was not, even though he knew all adjectives were useless per se, and didn’t bear any meaning whatsoever, because what was true of one person was not for another person, keeping the subject as the same.
There was so much clutter in people’s lives that it wasn’t even funny anymore. There was a remedy for everything and anything, in the form of a product or a service, which would or would not work depending on their attributes and scientific proficiencies, yet inside, he knew, deep, deep inside, the fact was that true contentment was a luxury.
Enamoured by popular media who masqueraded themselves as knowing the best way to live, people were scrolling themselves down to oblivion, under the impression that they were educating themselves. sinking themselves deeper and deeper into an abyss from which after a point, there was no return to normal thinking. You were manipulated and would remain so. It was sad to see so many good people, people who had the world of talent inside them, succumbing to instant gratification rather than build good habits consistently and reap their returns over the long-term.
He believed getting away from distractions was only a band-aid and not a permanent solution, because there existed two beings inside one’s mind, one, completely impulsive, in the pursuit of dopamine all the time, while the other, the rational self, relegated to a role of being a counsellor, a sensible being called into action only when the impulsive self had whacked itself out of its senses, and made one helpless, restless and bored with life in general. This required an intervention from the rational self in the form of justification and promises of self-healing, which went around in loops for a few weeks, chided upon by the impulsive self, which by now had come back into its own self and was again intent to make the person succumb to every short-term pleasure that was out there.
It was a great time to live.
Only if you could understand how your mind worked and overcome its obvious shortcomings by being determined and curious to notice the process needed in order to do so. It was simple.
Read, write and think everyday. Small talks were a no and the more deeper the topic to be read, written and thought about, the better it would be. Something even better would be to do something that would push you out of your comfort zone. Everyone was afraid of a doing a few things they didn’t like. Like, public speaking or something they had always wanted to do, but life’s clutter was holding them back.
Read, Write, Think, Repeat. Please.