Comparison and contrast are how we build linear narratives. Without the differences born from time and space, we could never go on adventures or tell any stories. They’re the fundamental building blocks behind creation and expansion.

But all too often, we use comparison/contrast to make ourselves miserable, to deem ourselves lesser than others with “more.” Ironically, those with “more” are often revealed to also be miserable, driven to view themselves as “lesser” than so-and-so through comparison and contrast.

I’d rather enjoy my untapped potential—have fun improving my position relative to others, or relative to where I used to be. Honestly, when I’m lost in the throes of self-improvement (which imo honors the need for relaxation and recovery), I forget all about everyone else.

Once I realized the “real world” was largely in my head, it became infinitely easier to interact with the reality of others.

Ironically, I can tap into fulfillment by intellectualizing futility. The cosmos will expand and contract, rendering all my concerns into laughable insignificance. My worries will wash away in a river of time. So I’ll relax into simple pleasures—the feel of hot water on my skin, green trees that rustle in the sun, cool blankets sliding against me.

When I intellectualize my actions into monumental struggles, I am often unable to viscerally appreciate, even when I’m “winning.” My enjoyment is tied to a narrative where I’m constantly fretting over my relative position, which is always being eroded by imagined opponents and unrealized circumstance.

I have forcefully chased various conditions, in the hopes that one of them would eventually lead to contentment. But after I grew exhausted with this approach (I’m still active, but I now recognize that being demanding/tyrannical of reality often falls short, even when I happen to elicit success), I decided I didn’t want to chase things anymore, and that’s when contentment found me.

It had been there all along, patiently waiting.

I believe if you tend to your inward state—be consistent about turning toward the most positive emotion you can resonate with (if it’s negative, accepting the negativity and using the acceptance as a stepping into less negativity or maybe even positivity)—then solutions and opportunities will make themselves apparent.

The important thing for me is not to force it. In my case, forced positivity only leads to extended negativity.

I used to be puzzled by how often others mistakenly claimed they knew what I was thinking. Then I became surprised by how often I made the same mistake.

Eventually, I concluded my primary focus should be my own perception. Whenever I strove to control others’ perception, victory was elusive, fleeting, and open to question. In the long term, it’s always been an exercise in frustration and disappointment. It’s just not worth the hassle.

The limitations of time and space allow us to create (and become) a temporary narrative, destined to fade as the eons pass. So with the life I have left in this particular story, I would rather focus on enjoyment and opportunity, and let unexpected fortune organically arise.

I’ve tried it the other way—focusing on past mistakes and a burning need to prove myself worthy—and it constantly led to more of the same. It wasn’t nearly as pleasant, fulfilling, or productive.

If I seek satisfaction in the moment, regardless of the conditions occurring around me, I’m aiming my intent at the very reason for changing a condition.

I don’t see this as settling for less (since being satisfied/optimistic enhances my performance and opens the floodgates for unexpected/positive change). I see it as claiming my birthright.

Theoretically, abundance is a given. Potential dances through and around us, in every quantum fluctuation of our existence. But that doesn’t always translate to life, where it often seems like we’re cut off and bereft.

That’s why we are creative individuals. If we can open our perception to possibility and adventure, we can begin to ride their transcendent currents.

In order to take joy in my linear narrative, I indulge/entertain in the importance of my past and my future. But when I want to take a break and enjoy who I am, I forget whatever I’ve pretended to be.