Self help really can enable some of us to develop, change, or discover our ‘true selves’. Personally, I am finding that self help books are nothing but a load of old bollocks. Do the self help, ‘experts’, truly offer any practical tools to implement these changes? Is there anything already written that hasn’t already been said or that subsequently created some kind of miracle breakthrough or epiphany?
Does anyone truly expect or wish to wake up every day dancing on sunbeams with unicorns and rainbows, or watch cartoon bluebirds chirping and circling around your head like some kind of acid induced Disney scene in your magic mushroom morning circle? Fuck no. Should we continue to expend energy cheering people up on WhatsApp with jokes when we have no energy or feel depressed? Fuck no. Put the world back down, it’s not your problem. You are your own problem and you have every capability to resolve that.
If I genuinely want to change aspects of my life, then I am more than capable of examining the more nefarious aspects of myself, or whatever routine behaviours and habits are not working out for me. Self help is exactly that – you do it yourself. In order for me to find purpose and achieve my goals, I had to delete WhatsApp, Instagram and TikTok from my phone. I might even have to bury said phone in a not so shallow grave.
It horrified me to learn that I had spent eight hours out of twenty four on my phone recently. EIGHT HOURS, MAN! Checking, checking again, doom scrolling, half hearted laughing, half-hearted-zero-calorie-pseudo-conversations with fellow zombie friends, all while being bombarded with advertisements for shit I don’t even want or need or like. The lure of a dopamine hit from the carefully constructed algorithms of an App slow drip feed our frustrated brains with exponentially decreasing or intermittent rewards – like a huddle of heroin addicted lab rats – we never really quench the thirst that was never there before we were captured and this pandemic started.
We need more realness. More meaning. More fulfilment. More joy. More intimacy – and not of the romantic kind. We also need to get comfortable with feeling bored. When I was a kid, being bored was good for you. It developed an imagination. It developed your conscience.
In eight hours, I could have felt intellectually stimulated by reading a book in one sitting. In eight weeks, I could have written a book with the energy I have pissed away on the wrong people or the wrong perspective. We are losing the very essence of what truly matters. And why – seriously why – are we doing this to ourselves, and to each other?
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