I am craving anonymity
As a kid I was living on the green grass, hoping to make a name for myself. The dirt embraced me without any judgement. It looked after me, like many of its other young ones.
The dream washed away like the mud on a slope under torrential rains. Just to be replaced by a realistic layer of quicksand. As an adult, dreams are like quicksand, the more you hold onto them, the more they slip away.
What remains is the void of depleting self-worth.
We live many lives in our short lifetime carelessly partitioned into a prologue, an overwhelming facet of seemingly meaningful chapters and finally the epilogue. The chapters are punctuated with milestones and experiences. Each providing a unique identity to the individual that we turn out to be. We toil to our limits so that we leave a notable legacy. Recognition.
Today, the best part of our life is lived under-appreciation and recognition that each of us is somebody. It is fueled by a system that rewards for existence. Crisis, existential crisis? What crisis? We are and therefore we need to be recognized. Handed to us on a silver plate, an inheritance of privileged existence.
I, part of this system, somewhat look back at that boy in the mud and wonder, if the trade-off between the anonymity of the ignorant satisfied boy in mud and this recognition of just being, was worth its price.
