Rage


There are things I cannot influence in any meaningful way that occupy my mind to a troubling degree: how a moron in the government just cut off funding to the EPA, how no one is worried about climate change enough, why people don’t realize that bidets are a much superior option to toilet paper for cleaning butts, why solar stocks are constantly undervalued, why is marriage such a big decision etc. This noise occurs because there are some things I care about deeply and any overarching challenges to those things go directly to my head. I cannot do a single thing about it, so a strange frustration and rage swells up and I feel a lot of blood rushing to my head.

I call it a strange frustration because it feels like I am in a Kafka novel, where things happen to me that affect me immensely and yet I have no recourse but to go on and deal with the situation. There is no deliberate assessment of the situation, there is no choice, there is no escape, there is only time which moves in only one direction, and I feel like I am in a river, drowning, but not dying, just suffocating, all the while moving forward. The rage is impotent, it burns hard but destroys nothing other than me.

It bothers me, and I begin to wonder what it means- have I lost the ability to deal with adversity? have I forgotten where I’m coming from? have I had my fill of the rain and I don’t want to get wet again? have I become so trapped in my own risk averse mediocrity that I don’t dare to do anything about my situation? have things really gotten so bad? were they not always this bad? how did I deal with them then? was I just ignorant? what good is this awareness doing to me? how do I become ignorant again? or how do I become hopeful again? have I lost the ability to take low risk high stake decisions when all I admire in a person is a fearless rationality? how do I get it back? The walls seem to be closing around me, and I feel like this bottle will pop anytime now. But it never does. Instead of being the bottle of soda I imagine myself to be, I think I am a chewing gum, thoroughly malleable, infinitely amenable, infinitely crushable.

I have always written whenever I felt a lack, because that is where my writing comes from. I feel a strong lack again, surrounded by a dense fog of uncertainty and confusion. Only this time, the problem I am dealing with has no form- it is a cacophony of conflicts calling for my help to be resolved, calling for me to identify little ghosts in a noisy signal, and then to wager irreversible decisions based on those ghosts.

Like always, I may have meandered…

But like always, the meandering has helped me understand where the lack is. In a small way possibly, but these little clicks on the keyboard allowed for a fleeting reflection on a pool of thoughts that is unusually murky in my head.

When you take a long time off from biking, you are unsure of yourself in traffic. And I think that is what is happening to me. Gone soft, like they say. The only way to be comfortable again is to take out that rusty bike, oil it up, and start riding.

See you around the corner, Pandit.

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