some day

Thinking the grass is greener is a tendency we all have – placing our hopes and fixations on something else, something that is out there (anywhere but here), and telling ourselves when we have this thing; when we acquire it – at last, our lives will be okay.

It is the kind of belief than can be tested many times – and indeed is – and now I catch myself in the ludicrousness of it. It doesn’t matter what you pin your hopes on: a new job, a new house, a new life situation... once achieved, there is always some other unpleasant circumstance that rears its head. It turns out, upon arrival, that whatever thing you had been sure was preventing you from happiness, or living the perfect life, was not to blame entirely after all. Or, if it was, its place has been taken, just as swiftly, by something else.

There came a point when I realised that the common factor between these unpleasant situations was not the unpleasantness in the situation after all. It was me: my continued insistence that such an imperfection exists.

The vast majority of us seem, by my reckoning, to have mental programming that is, at best, severely faulty. This programming that has been largely responsible for our success in ruling the planet and dominating our animal friends in the survival game, has made us continually seek new, ‘better’ experiences, resulting in our spectacularly high achievement as a species. But while evolution has favoured these traits, it has a cruel consequence. If now is not good enough – if we are predisposed to thinking that another, better situation is what we want – it leaves us in a state of permanent discontent. Even while claiming to be otherwise happy and fulfilled, people lament for better work colleagues, a kinder boss, a bigger pay packet, a nicer house. If just this would happen, I would be happy.

I pretend I am different, of course. I pretend I have reached some higher plane where I see all truth and thus am lifted above the torment of common man. But...mostly it just means that I see it. I see the futility of our search...and even wonder at the fruitfulness of aiming towards anything, let alone some great success, financial, academic, professional or otherwise. I know that if or when some great achievement arrives, I will still be here, after the fleeting moment of euphoria: stuck, with me. I will still be here with my brain, which, despite my best intentions, will say...ah yes, Amiria, BUT.

Perhaps I am lying. Perhaps once you see the futility of our discontent there is no turning back.

Who knows?

For now, I will just paint.