Motivation

A foggy pathway

No one reads this blog. Yet, the mere act of pressing "Publish" gives me the notion that perhaps one man, one person, a single soul, might read this. In my mind that idea gives me solace, the "push" or motivation to write. However, the truth is I'm more than likely writing this specific message for my own self, more than anyone. Perhaps that's why I don't care if anyone reads it. The only real person in the audience is myself.

Recently, I've been tired. I've lost all semblance of discipline, control, regulation. I feel amorphous. For the past few months I have been watering a flower, storing it in a glass vase. Yet now it feels like I can only watch as my vase rusts, cracks, breaks down from wear and tear, as my flower loses its nutrients, and wilts... slowly... slowly. I feel more and more passionless with every passing day. It scares me. And every single day I look up at a whiteboard in my room - it has a list of three, maybe four big things that I'd like to get done - that would make me fulfilled. And I can't even look, can't even get myself to start on them until a few weeks have passed. I am stuck in this prison of comfort, relaxation, procrastination, and yet my brain has become to indoctrinated to the idea of that solace that I can't even begin to crawl my way out of this hole. Break out. So often I tell myself, try again, try again, try again, but nothing comes of it. The more time passes, the more failed I feel, the worse this feeling of uselessness becomes.

So, I ask you, nobody in particular, what do you define as motivation? What I've become inclined to say, based on everything I've seen and heard in the general internet, is that the very act of continuing on, doggedly, despite the outcome, of a certain task - that is motivation. And I've done a hell of a lot of that, so why do I feel so empty inside? It feels like my flame is dying, and every time I try again, and again, to reignite it returns weaker than before. I am so lost.

I used to know what my purpose was. Used to have a clear idea on what I wanted to accomplish, the things that I would do, semester by semester, month by month, day by day. Yet I have accomplished zilch. Am I a failure? Or does the mere action of continuing to try make me bound to succeed? I am lost. This smoke that obfuscates the journey ahead blinds me so. Yet I must continue onwards? It only seems to be getting thicker and thicker with each step...