Then they are those phases when we are rudely thrown out of our comfort zones. It’s is like being pushed out of the dark comfort of your mother’s womb. You hate it – flail your arms with anger, squeeze your eyes shut and cry loudly to protest. You long to crawl back into that sac where you had just her heartbeat for company. Just like that clock on your wall, its loud tic-toc matching the rhythm of your heart, relegating each breath of yours to past tense.
As we grow old and take charge of our lives, we replicate the comfort of her womb by regimenting our existence into a routine. To bed by 11, wake up at 6, work hard on weekdays, work less on weekends, work time, play time, family time….
The truth is, most of us find routines comforting. Freedom intimidates us. It’s always reassuring to know what to expect.
Trust these phases of introspection to break the illusion. They make us question our existence, wonder if we have a purpose. If being a loving mother/loyal husband/dynamic manager/dutiful son enough!
Truth be told, we want people to know how good, attractive, generous, funny, wild and clever we really are. Fear or revere me, but please, think I'm special. It's the only reason you get up in the morning. The only reason you suffer the shitty boss, the blood, the sweat and the tears. (adapted from the Revolver)
One thing I know for sure is all of us want to be remembered well; to leave behind good memories for people whose lives we touched with our presence. I think that's what we all want, in the end; to know that we left footprints when we passed by, however briefly.