Hello, Bookworms. How can we be at peace? At peace with ourselves, with others, and with the world? Do we all struggle with the same ideas, introspections, and anxieties on different planes? Or are we all vastly distinct, only pretending to maintain a comparable exterior?

I want to feel both foreign yet equal to the stranger walking towards me. Occasionally, I do this using my fears. I think we are often connected through our fears, our loneliness, and our communal lies.

I combat my fears by longing to feel accepted and understood. I need to trust—not only myself but, most importantly, the world. I find trusting yourself to live out what you already know is true to be the best way to go. Nothing gets done when I live in extremes within myself, in monumental highs and debilitating lows. We must give in to the humility of surrender. It’s better than it sounds. There’s a particular enchantment in resisting this inclination and consciously doing something different.

I must believe everything is happening to me at all the proper times. With the tools I have right now, I am facing every obstacle in the way I can best face it. I am proud of myself for everything I don’t consciously register, but I feel. And for all the hard things I do because I must. For all the times I feel like I’ve been beaten. I will be damned if I am stopped from accomplishing anything, for the fear of mediocrity, from an expectation of grandiose. 

When I am at my lowest, I am fearful. My thoughts on vulnerability crumble. All that was in a tight grasp inevitably deconstructs, leaving me to question how much is in our control and how much is the perception of control. I like to think my emotions don’t control me. But often, they do. Sadness tends to obstruct me and all I’ve come to know.

When my mind gets to a point where I begin to question everything, I know it’s time for bed….when there is so much in my brain, I feel I cannot take another step. In any direction, go forward or return. I am stunted. But even stillness feels wrong. Nothing in that moment is right. Nothing could ever be right. I almost want to be removed from my physical body, the only escape seeming so extreme. Nothing can be correct, and will it ever be right, are thoughts that feel intrusive but don’t leave as swiftly as they arrived. 

I struggle with decision-making, always priding myself to put my foot down but constantly betraying myself. This is the point it always comes to. In which my mind ultimately succumbs to defeat. Defeat to the universe, as I feel I am up against that. The barrier against me is so significant and incomprehensible that I can only realistically feel it is the universe itself. In whatever form it may be. And although this position is one I often find myself in, time and time again, it feels as though it never happened at all. 

Each time this overwhelming sense welcomes me, there is evidence of the naivety in my approach, the stupidity in its quick acceptance. This is the moment when I give up, put down any shield I was meekly holding up, and bare myself—all there is to see.

Brought to my attention then was never that I should continue to wallow but the comical sense that there is nothing to wallow, indeed. Oddly enough, at the moment I feel most weak, I am able to see my strength.

In the pursuit of wonder, solitude is not a retreat from the world but a deeper dive into it.

In all honesty, we tend to bet against ourselves. I have asked a million questions about happiness: if it exists, if I’ve already reached the happiest I can be if we all naturally self-destruct, and if this is all pointless. If the idea of happiness was personified before me, who’s to say if I would even recognize it? Like most conversations I have in my head, we end up nowhere. Please indulge me in the comments.

I do not fear these moments; I fear their longevity. So, I turn to what my mother often tells me; “fake it till you make it.” Said in reference to many things: my tendency to overthink and seek perfection, giving up when I feel I would fall short. It’s so simple, so silly, almost pointless. Almost. It’s a phrase that’s stuck most with me throughout the years, and I repeat it to myself often. So, I will continue faking it for a long time. But if it works, who’s to say it’s wrong?

I apologize for all the rambling. You know what you signed up for!

Thanks for reading.