I am a worrier, not a warrior


I think one of my weakest (if not the weakest) points is worrying. I worry a lot. In Slovakia we have a beautiful metaphor for worrying (or for thinking negatively) – to paint a devil on the wall. If there would be a competition in painting the devil on the wall I’ll be probably getting the first prize without much of an effort. I’m so natural in this highly unappreciated craft. Oh God, I probably painted a whole hell over the years of worrying!

And just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse (because we can get used to almost anything, so I got accustomed to my obsession with worrying), it did. I don’t remember that moment precisely, but it felt so unbelievably dreadful when I read that what we think creates our reality in return. I immediately found myself in one huge vicious circle:

I worry >>> it creates negative reality >>> negative reality makes me worry >>> so I worry and it starts again…

Almost every book about improving life I read since then says: “Change the way you think and your whole life will change”. I believe that this is the way to go, to change the thinking. I’m just not sure how exactly. Sometimes I feel like a fish that was told that the only way to enjoy the beauty of the world is from the above. And that fish somehow believed that and instead of focusing on improving its watery life, concentrating on enjoying its beautiful surroundings, it speculates about getting up there so it can make its dull life meaningful, because nothing worth living for hides in the cold depths of the waters it inhabits.

Now of course that’s a bullshit. But just because something is a total bullshit, it doesn’t mean that someone will not fall into believing it. And I don’t think it is about being stupid, naive or uneducated. As I was finishing the last sentence and I wasn’t sure how to continue a picture came into my mind. It was an idea of a parasite infected mind, which after being intruded simply needs some sort of host to survive, it needs some sort of belief that it can hold onto, suck it. I dwould want to hope that symbiotic relationship between mind, body, spirit and the world of ideas does exist and it’s possible to build and maintain, but same as in the outer world, such relationship requires almost ideal conditions. Of which there aren’t many for no species on this planet.

Even now, after reading the draft of this post I feel slightly pessimistic about my writing. I almost wanted to close the file unsaved, asking myself what is the point of all of this? It is as if I was constantly doubting myself and needed to be assured that what I do matters. Somewhere deep, in the place where the roots of whatever parasite my mind was infiltrated by haven’t reached yet, I believe that what I do matters. That this writing matters. I might not know exactly how and I might not be capable of appreciating it fully, but the idea of reaching out to the world of ideas and trying to bring some of them into this world always intrigued me and I always felt truly alive after I have been there and back. So maybe every text anyone has written is a memory of some vaguely remembered travel into the world of ideas and same as with travelling here, what will we discover and what stories will we bring back depends on how well we are looking around us and how far (hight, deep) we dare to wander.

This morning I saw a post on Facebook saying “Overthinking is the biggest cause of our unhappiness.” Well, it seems to be the same thing as worrying. It robs us of the present. And it eventually creates a future we didn’t want. I think I painted more than enough devils already. It probably would be impossible to erase them all, to wash all the walls clean, but I could try to re-paint them with some more positive pictures.

I think it sounds like a plan…


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