Painful and Slow

That's the question always staying reserved at the back of my mind these days. Wherever I look, everyone my age is always chasing: chasing after love, after money, after their dreams. Always in a race, always impatient, always chasing after things as if they will be gone by the passing of the next minute.

I on the other hand, have habitualized this thing I call, philosophical myopia. I have talked about this before in my intro, on how I cannot handle rapid transitions as well as other people, at least based on self-observation. I can only focus on what is happening in front of me, one task before moving on to the next. Usually, I plan it with utmost care so that I could fit all of it within a 16-hour day without missing a time to rest. Some changes are welcome, especially if it means getting extra time to do enjoyable things. Some changes feel like an outrage, as if my sole chance of peace that day is thrown out the window.

Sometimes I can't help but feel that I am going way slower than I think I should be. Human nature, I suppose. My current boyfriend once told be that in the absence of cars and authorities, one person going through a red light on a frenzy could possibly lead the other ninety-nine to cross the red light in the same manner.

There is this nagging anxious feeling in the depths of my chest on how I am going way slower than the rest of the world, and I am left with two unhelpful polarizing options at my disposal: to be sucked in by the absurdity the whole system and push despite all the warning signs my body is giving, or shut the world out, all the good and the bad in it, and continue being paralyzed in isolation. The feeling is unfortunately, all the more sound these days when I am currently physically handicapped due to an accident that occurred last week. In this case, I really don't have any choice but to isolate myself in order to recover.

All my illusions of going slower than the world exacerbated though, leaving me feeling all the more helpless and useless and left out. If prior the accident, I could just distract the pangs of loneliness and existential dread in my head with an hour or two of strenuous physical activity so that I could have this sort of illusion of fulfillment, now, I cannot do that anymore, not until my ankle has fully healed.

How do people deal with being not fast enough? Is that all we ever going to do in this life, chase one thing after another, and hope that in some way our achievements are going to mount up to anything? To have more titles, to be called "successful", to be fulfilled as an adult? Is this all there is to existing?

Aren't you guys tired from chasing? Because I sure the hell am.

_{Roxanne Marie is the twenty-year-old something who calls herself the Protean Creator.}

_{She is a chemical engineer by profession, pole-dancer and blogger by passion and frustration, and lastly, a life enthusiast. She is on a mission to rediscover her truth through the messy iterative process of learning, relearning and unlearning. Currently, she works as a science and research instructor in her hometown, Tagbilaran City, all the while documenting her misadventures, reflections and shenanigans as a working-class millennial here on Hive.}

_{If you like her content, don't forget to upvote and leave a comment to show some love. It would be an honor to have this post reblogged as well. Also, don't forget to follow her to be updated with her latest posts.}