Self Help

Let it go

Letting go is not something you do.

It is something you stop doing.

You stop pretending every thing is precious.

You stop clinging to toxic relationships.

You stop acting like busy is a good thing.

You stop posturing as if achievements make you, you.

You stop thinking new habits will solve the problem.

You stop trying to “fix” everything.

You stop turning to breaking news for information.

You stop mistaking information for understanding.

You stop polishing the facade of success.

You stop chasing happiness.

No matter the fixation—

be it possessions, people, or prosperity—

attachment is always suffering.

Always.

When you let go of attachments,

you pick up freedom, peace, equanimity.

But if you hold on,

you’ll get dragged.

We often look at the things we enjoy—the relationships, the experiences, the possessions—and we want to hold on to them forever. We expect that these things will continue to add the same value to our lives, day in and day out.

But life does not work this way. Not everything that adds value today will add value tomorrow.

This is particularly evident within our material possessions. Each time we purchase a sparkling new doodad, we bask in the light of its potential, excited by the initial value the new object brings to our lives. Over time, though, the value wanes, the glossy newness wears off, and our excitement abruptly dissipates.

When that possession stops adding value, however, what do we do? Do we ask ourselves why? Do we donate it or sell it or question why we purchased it in the first place?

Not usually.

Often, once the dullness sets in, we let our effects gather dust or wither away in boxes in our basements, closets, and junk drawers. Out of sight, out of mind.

And but then the only way to reclaim the missing value is to find another doodad that is shiny and exciting and new. This cycle is a dangerous downward spiral, a vortex of consumption in which we’re constantly looking for that next nugget of excitement, that next burst of euphoria, that cocaine high that doesn’t last but a few feet past the cash register.

Thankfully, there are at least two ways to break this vicious cycle.

First, we must question our purchase. Of course there’s nothing inherently wrong with material possessions. What’s wrong is the idea that material possessions will bring lasting joy and contentment. They won’t. Instead, we must ask,

Will this thing add value to my life? and Is this thing still adding value to my life?

This kind of intentional living, when done consistently, will form lasting, empowering habits.

Second, we must be willing to let go. We should let go of superfluous excess in our lives, starting with the dusty belongings inhabiting every nook and cranny and dark corner of our homes, eventually moving on to the more difficult things no longer adding value to our lives: sentimental items, extra gadget, shitty relationship.

Ultimately, we must learn to let go. To do so, acceptance is the key. We needn’t settle, but we all have a reality we must accept. As much as we might want to, we’ll never be able to hold on to a sunset. Likewise, we can’t retain every thing and still lead meaningful lives. Life is fulfilling only when we allow ourselves to let go, when we allow ourselves to be in the moment, when we allow ourselves to feel the moment.

After all, this moment is life’s only true reality.

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Focused, not busy

Take a look around: everyone is multitasking. We’re doing more than we’ve ever done, attempting to fill every interstitial zone with more work.

We live in a busy world, one in which our value is often measured in productivity, efficiency, work rate, output, yield, GTD—the rat race.

Indians are well know for working more hours, but we are actually earning less. Busy has become the new norm. And if you’re not busy, especially in today’s workplace, you’re often thought of as lazy, unproductive, inefficient—a waste of space.

There is a vast difference between being busy and being focused. The former involves the typical tropes of productivity: anything to keep our hands moving, to keep going, to keep the conveyer belt in motion. It is no coincidence we refer to mundane tasks as “busywork.” Busywork works well for factories, robots, and fascism, but not so great for anyone who’s attempting to do something meaningful with their waking hours.

Being focused, on the other hand, involves attention, awareness, and intentionality. People sometimes mistake my focused time for busyness because complete focus apes many of the same surface characteristics as busy: namely, the majority of my time is occupied.

The difference, then, is I don’t commit to a lot of things, but the tasks and people I commit to receive my full attention. Being focused doesn’t allow me to get as much accomplished as being busy; thus, the total number of tasks I complete has gone down over the years, although the significance of each undertaking has gone up—way up.

Sure, sometimes I slip; sometimes I fall back into the busy trap that engulfs our culture. When I do, I make an effort to notice my slip-up, and then I course correct until I’m once again focused on the worthwhile aspects of life. It’s a constant battle, but it’s one worth fighting.

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The Advice Epidemic

The urge to convince others is overwhelming. On the surface, it appears virtuous to help, to instruct, to coach, to guide, to motivate. Giving advice gives the impression of nobility, as if we have a obligation to ameliorate the plight of the world, to assist people headed the “wrong” way, to point people in the “right” direction. We are all middlemen in the middle of a self-help epidemic.

Just look at social media.
Overnight experts espousing advice:
You should wake up early.
You shouldn’t eat that.
You should embrace change.
You shouldn’t get anxious.
You should change your habits.
You shouldn’t wear socks with sandals. (Okay, maybe they’ve got a point with that last one.)

But, really, there is no “should.”
There never was. And without that sandcastle of “shoulds,” all advice begins to crumble in the wind.

Each time we advise someone, it may feel like it’s arising from a place of love, but it’s actually the ego saying I know what’s best for you.

The implication of which is disconcerting:
I am right, you are wrong,
and if you subordinate yourself to me,
I will fix you.

How is this loving?

There is no bigger ego than that of the Helper. The helpful man simply cannot help himself. He feels obligated to tear an eagle from the sky to save it from falling, to drag a dolphin to shore to rescue it from drowning.

This is the opposite of helpful. I know because I’ve done it a thousand times. And for that, I’m sorry—a thousand apologies.

My first inclination is to delete it all— every exhortation, recommendation, suggestion, and opinion. But we cannot start over by erasing the past. We can only move forward in the Everlasting Now.

Perhaps I developed an allergy to advice because propagating it only feeds the ego. The ego is not a “bad” thing. Just like fire is not “good” or “bad.” It can warm you; it can burn you. The desire to help isn’t good or bad, either. It appears for myriad reasons,
all of which belong to the ego. And fortifying the ego is a surefire way to decrease the peace.

Advice? No!
I don’t want to help you;
I don’t want to not help you, either.
I want to Love you.

Love requires speaking the Truth
and remaining neutral as to whether it “helps” anyone. If it helps, that’s fine.
If not, that’s fine, too. The reception is up to the recipient.

The Truth is exposed through honest observation, through seeking and awareness, through an examination of obstacles and a deeper understanding of the way things are.

To be clear, this is not a recommendation.
I don’t think you “should” do anything.
I’m not arguing my “point” in this blog.
Nor am I urging you to comprehend my “message.”
I don’t hope to convince you of anything.

The moment we try to convince someone,
we have lost the plot.

To convince, to influence, to prove oneself—
these are all ribs lining the same umbrella.

The Truth does not require persuasion, coaxing, or coercion—
it is the Truth whether you’re convinced or not.
As is Love.

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Addition by Subtraction

We have too much.

Too much stuff.

Too much stress.

Too many obligations.

Yet we don’t have enough.

Not enough time.

Not enough money.

Not enough energy.

Looks like we’ve stockpiled the “wrong” things, and that’s why we don’t have enough of the “right” things.

Of course, “right” and “wrong” are just moralizing constructs. There are no right or wrong material possessions. The reality is we have too many things that increase our misery. As a result, we lack composure, contentment, calmness. Soaking in suffering, we glimpse occasional moments of happiness. We attempt to reprise those moments by acquiring new possessions. We try to “fix” the misery by gathering objects that make us happy.

We act as if it’s an inventory problem. As if that Instagrammable couch or that area rug will “spark joy.” As if that indoor planter or that vertical bookcase will complete us.

As if that new shirt or those skinny jeans will make us anew.

Subtract the “wrong” things;

add the “right” things.

That’s the key, right?

Yes, that’s the key to anxiety, restlessness, and dissatisfaction. We cannot consume our way out of discontent.

Well, we can—but only for a fleeting moment.

It’s not unlike a drug addict’s high.

We can purchase pleasure,

but, in doing so, we also purchase future pain. An addict is never “fixed” after getting his “fix.”

For after that spark of pleasure, misery always awaits.

There are no exceptions—

pleasure and misery are two sides of the same coin. We’ll never have all the right things, because there are no “right” things.

That’s the lie we’ve been sold by advertisers and by confused “influencers” who don’t know any better. Yes, some objects may enhance our lives,

but only after we subtract the attachment that gets in the way. Peace cannot be packaged and placed on a conveyor belt.

It is buried beneath the hoard we’ve added to our lives. The path to misery is cobbled with addition. The path to peace is uncovered with subtraction.