Protest.
via this isn't happiness
I’ve finally realized that with each compromise we make, we slowly die. I shouldn’t say finally. I’m glad I’m figuring this out sooner rather than later. Because unlike the physical parts of ourselves, the non-tangible – some would argue more important – parts can be revived even long after they’ve died multiple deaths.
We make compromises with our education, with our careers and with our relationships until we hardly recognize ourselves. What happened to idealism, to dreaming? Suddenly visions we used to have of living adventurous lives of traveling to faraway places, reading books that make us want to fight the power, and loving people that set our souls on fire, turn into concerns about what constitutes business casual, how to lose that extra 10 pounds, and whether to invest in a Roth or a traditional 401k. We look down on the people who haven’t quite “figured it out” yet and feel bad for them. When maybe it’s just a projection of the pity we feel for ourselves, because we’re dying inside and feel helpless to stop it. Awhile back I wrote about Wojun Park, an artist that explained art as not just a means, but an instinct to protest death. Maybe that’s the instinct that’s kicking in now.
I’ve seen parts of myself die that I value the most, and it’s painful each time. But this moment of clarity is a chance to salvage those parts, and protest death the best that I can.
