Are an extra hundred words enough to make up for a lost day? No, but seeing old friends may be worth the loss.

Onwards.

During a recent conversation with my martial arts teacher, we discussed certain “life narratives” that we create for ourselves. These narratives shape our lives by giving day-to-day occurrences meaning in a larger narrative. A minor car accident, for instance, is proof our own exceptionally bad luck, or our impossible clumsiness, or a Divine reminder to let go of attachments to the material world, or a million other possibilities. Psychotheraphy, of course, is partly about bringing such narratives to the surface, and engaging in conscious behaviors that help rewrite any undesirable stories. During out discussion he gave language to two more that haunt me, namely the desire to be, or believing that one is, more than human or less than human. Both these narratives have one very worldly effect, exhaustion.

If I am more than human, I do not need the sleep required by mere mortals and can, should, work more hours with more intensity than my peers. The narrative ‘logic’ is at once helpful and harmful. I may, at times, be motivated to keep going despite some obstacle and this may indeed be a good decision. When the drive turns competitive, however, then the source of pleasure turns from doing and finishing work to its quality relative to one’s peers. Even more troublesome, and this is my struggle, is that once motivating narrative transformation into a dictum; why have you stopped working? There is always a chance to do more, and through that possibility enters the guilt of not doing so.

more later…I don’t feel like writing right now