It is often, that I end up questioning. What is it that makes me feel empty. Why does one have to do anything to ensure this emptiness does not stay in oneself. For some, the mere presence of their parents, fills that hole. For some solitude is most comforting. For some 50 other activities help fill the void within. For some, traveling. As I recognize that void within me, I have tried to settle for every activity that I have mentioned above. The liberty to play music, the privilege to be able to write in English, the access to a stable job. The love of parents who have sacrificed a lot to raise their two children and the Phd. program one has signed up for. Nothing however makes me feel less empty. It is not that one does not have gratitude for what one has, but the more one needs something or someone to feel whole, the more soul-less and powerless one feels.
And like, every other time, when I feel empty, I employ the resources I have worked for to find purpose and meaning and revamp, rejig the mind to find happiness in something else. A new found goal has been to live a humble life in the mountains, with an adopted dog in a solitary room with wifi and a tea shop outside to maintain one addiction if not more than one. The end goal – to be a successful writer. I have wondered in detail, why this has become a new found passion. And here too, comes a deep seated need to feel adequate. Feel less empty. How?
Well, the fact that subconsciously, and now consciously, one gets to share tit bits of ones own life by writing and then expecting that people read it, the want to feel important, the needy pleasure one feels when he realizes that at least one person found it necessary to read what I had to write, fuels an egotistic me to carry on. Be happy about the identity one has chosen. To convince the other of the grounded-ness that a deeply devoid and empty me can show. An identity which is permanently accepted by oneself and the other.
But, an identity is never permanent. It is and will always be an empty temporary hoax which makes one momentarily bemused and content. I feel so angry at my own conditioning, which prevents me from accepting the harsh truth of this emptiness, because once one accepts it, nothing one does can make that person feel whole. The other choice can be to simply believe in choosing either of the two – renunciation or a completely materialistically immersed life. One expects you to let go of every identity, association and accumulation. And the other expects you to keep accumulating in the hope that one can navigate through life by finding one thing after the other to be able to feel barely content.
So what does one do here? Listen to Robert Frost and take the road not taken? Or take the one that others take in the hope that it will one day give us permanence (which it will never). Or is there a third road? One that isn’t a road at all. One has to use a knife to cut through the dense green cover and find a way. Is that even a possibility?