Highlights
Quote
When the narrative at one pole becomes stronger, my subconscious re-establishes homeostasis by strengthening the opposing narrative — intensifying the dance.
Clean Copy
Sometimes I notice that my mind creates polar opposite narratives in my head, just so my ego can dance between them.
Why believe that I’m an imperfect person who is learning from my mistakes? There’s so much more movement to experience by oscillating between being the virtuous hero and the despicable villain at every turn throughout the day.
Why see myself as attractive to some people, and not others? I would miss out on the excitement of walking into a party like a director just yelled action to a room full of extras, and I’d miss the dramatic swing back into loathing every bone in my body and brain cell in my skull by the time I walk out the door.
Why see my life as fundamentally okay? I could instead sway gleefully between the dark wonders of existentialism and the overwhelming joy of appreciating each incoming detail that my senses bring to my awareness in a given moment.
When the narrative at one pole becomes stronger, my subconscious re-establishes homeostasis by strengthening the opposing narrative — intensifying the dance. A sense of self-accomplishment is met with a dose of doom-scrolling and self-loathing. A bout of depression is met with some new form of cheap validation that can restore my level of conceit.
Quick, quick, slow. Quick, quick, slow. The movements become second-nature.
With each new step in the repertoire, back and forth, my ego becomes more spectacular, more important.
I hear it whisper, as adrenaline pumps through my veins:
“What would you do without me?”
Photo by Jakob Owens on Unsplash
Annotated Copy
Sometimes I notice that my mind creates polar opposite narratives in my head, just so my ego can dance between them.
Why believe that I’m an imperfect person who is learning from my mistakes? There’s so much more movement to experience by oscillating between being the virtuous hero and the despicable villain at every turn throughout the day.
Why see myself as attractive to some people, and not others? I would miss out on the excitement of walking into a party like a director just yelled action to a room full of extras, and I’d miss the dramatic swing back into loathing every bone in my body and brain cell in my skull by the time I walk out the door.
Why see my life as fundamentally okay? I could instead sway gleefully between the dark wonders of existentialism and the overwhelming joy of appreciating each incoming detail that my senses bring to my awareness in a given moment.
When the narrative at one pole becomes stronger, my subconscious re-establishes homeostasis by strengthening the opposing narrative — intensifying the dance. A sense of self-accomplishment is met with a dose of doom-scrolling and self-loathing. A bout of depression is met with some new form of cheap validation that can restore my level of conceit.
Quick, quick, slow. Quick, quick, slow. The movements become second-nature.
With each new step in the repertoire, back and forth, my ego becomes more spectacular, more important.
I hear it whisper, as adrenaline pumps through my veins:
“What would you do without me?”
Photo by Jakob Owens on Unsplash