The author of my problems

I am the author of my own problems, simply by being bothered enough by something for it to become a problem for me.

This in itself is not actually a problem. Here’s the twisty bit – without a problem to get my teeth into, I am prone to getting depressed. And when I get depressed, I behave in a way that actually causes more substantial problems and situations for myself. I effectively shoot myself in the foot on a regular basis.

How stupid is that? If I don’t have a problem to solve, I go right ahead and create one. The logic is kind of flawless. Prior experience tells me the execution leaves a lot to be desired. It’s not a deliberate thing by any means, but it has been a constant thing in my life – and one that I need to acknowledge so that I can stop doing it already. Or at least find a more constructive way to deal with it.

Almost every time I reach a point in life where I can look around and think to myself ‘Everything is awesome right now’, I start looking around with the mindset of ‘what do I do next?’. And if I can’t find anything, I start prodding all the details in my life, hoping to see something fall out that I can fix. My own contentment is rooted in having a goal to achieve, or a problem to solve.

Which brings me to the point of this post, I guess. At the moment, I have no complaints in life beyond not being able to afford my own home until I’m about 40. The long term goal is there. The short term one is lacking. While I feel completely fine in myself right now, I know all too well where this leads if I’m not careful.

So, I’m making a conscious effort to take control of my self destructive tendency to create a problem for myself by looking for more goals in life. So far on my list of new goals is teaching myself to paint. Experience tells me that I’d better come up with some goals that are a bit more substantial at some point in the near future, before my life gets interesting again.

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