things you may not want to know but I'm telling you anyway

fret.

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Hands writing in open book by Freepik

😒 Man I can’t believe we’re 30 now. I honestly felt ancient. Like I can totally rock a walking cane right now.

Yeah, and life’s not gonna get any better than this, I tell you that much.

😒 Ah here we go again. Something you would like to complain about?

Do you ever wonder why we’re here? You know, living in this world. For what?

😒 To be miserable and die.

Seriously!

😒 I am being serious. What else would be the reason? We’re definitely not gonna win Nobel or Pulitzer. We, however, will be so miserable courtesy to all the wrong choices we made in life because we thought we knew better and then one day all the air will leave our body, and we’ll decomposed six feet under.

There’s gotta be more than just be miserable, right?

😒 What do you have in mind? All there is to it in our life is just fretting each day until we thought there’s nothing left to fret about, and that my friend is when we die.

Fret? I got nothing to fret about.

😒 Now, now, you’re just lying, to yourself no less. We all fret. We worry about almost everything there is in life. From early in our age, we’re already taught to fret, to worry, to be scared of something.

But, why?

😒 Heck if I know. All I remember is growing up I fret about making friends, because if I’m not making friends then there’s something wrong with me, when maybe all I ever want was to be friends with a selective number of people. Then I fret about will I go to a good school, as if if I can’t it means I’m not good enough as a person.  Then when getting myself a job, I fret about if I’m doing enough to save my own ass from the wrath of the bosses.

Shit, you’re right. I’ve spent the better part of my life just fretting.

😒 Well, that’s why I try to spent my days, as much as it is allowed, to just sort of let bygone be bygone. Or at least I tried. Look, you can’t please everyone, and it is not your job to be everything to everyone. Sure, life can and most of the times always a bitch, but vent it out, mate. Go watch videos of cats or dogs, and you’ll feel some warmth inside your heart spreading out and you couldn’t be bothered to fret about anything anymore.

Seems easy.

😒 I think that life’s not that hard. We made it hard for ourselves, what with the constant fretting about, worrying about all the catastrophic and borderline impossible what ifs scenarios. I learnt it the hard way. I spent days and days just cursing at life and fretting what if I messed up, you know? Guess what? Nobody cares that you’re struggling with your personal hell. You’re fighting a constant battle that you create yourself, and for what? For nothing. I still curse at life, it’s easier to have a target to hate anyway, but I try to tell myself that at the end of everyday I am the only person who gets to define who I am as a person. No point in worrying what other people think. It’s easier said and done, but it’s doable.

Wait, are we being wise, just now?

😒 N’ah, I wouldn’t go so far as thinking that we’re wise, but I have reached the point that I am so done with life. I’ve seen what life will be like if I go down the same road as most people do. I’ll look like I’m content but deep down I am dying inside. I don’t want that for me. I just want to find the point at which point I can genuinely said that this is all enough, that I am content, and that anything more than this will tip off the balance that I have.

Do you feel content?

😒 Surprisingly, I do feel content. Not in general, because obviously there are a lot of aspects I wish to just kick it in the bucket. But, I feel enough. Like I don’t feel I need to be more than this. This is enough. This is good enough for me.

Because?

😒 Because a number of reasons. Top of my mind, because I don’t have it in me to push further for things that I’m not even sure I want. I want a life in my own right and I have it. So that’s enough.

But, what’s enough?

😒 Oh man, who’s to say for sure? Don’t fret about it, okay? Let bygone be bygone.


A conversation with oneself in response to the Daily Post prompt, fret.

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