I have dwelled in the past, finding solace in its embrace, yet fearing the uncertainties of the future. However, I’ve come to realize that indulging in nostalgia or succumbing to worry is a futile endeavor. Whether reminiscing about the glories of Manchester United or fretting over Liverpool’s current predicament amidst the pandemic, it won’t alter the present reality—I am akin to Newcastle United, languishing in the depths of the degradation chart. What truly matters now is extricating myself from this downward spiral.
Living in the present moment is paramount. It’s about seizing the day, carpe diem, as they say.
Adapting has never been my forte. As a maladaptive daydreamer, I often find myself paralyzed by indecision. Every choice presents a dilemma: to act and risk regret or to refrain and still harbor remorse, echoing Kierkegaard’s sentiments.
In my faith, there exists a special prayer for moments of uncertainty. It’s not so much about the words spoken but the intention behind them. Yet, amidst the ambiguity, there persists a disquietude within me—an intangible longing for something unseen and untouched. Sometimes, to alleviate this discomfort, I resort to self-deprecating humor, albeit temporarily soothing, it fails to quell the underlying yearning.
It’s a paradoxical conundrum, oscillating between the desire to cease this relentless pursuit and the urge to unravel its enigma. I grapple with the ambiguity, meticulously analyzing each option before making a choice. The concept is straightforward, in theory, but in practice… it’s anything but.