the art of overthinking

It cannot be more simple than it is — with life comes all these rapid changes pretty unexpectedly, whether it greets you loudly or tries to hide until you notice it approaching. These changes, while they come and go, can impact more than just yourself, and sooner than later you’ll find your entire surroundings shifting with you as you go.

I have talked about change in many perspectives, the inevitable changes, the ones you can deny but I never really considered the changes around me, not centered around myself but rather my loved ones. I have been around certain people for longer than I can remember, and I never imagined a course of life that might be temporary with them for I have always wanted them near.

When I think about my friends and how much we’ve changed both individually and together, I think of all the memories we promised we’d relive someday, one day when life is less busy and somehow more still and quiet. Some got jobs, some got engaged, and others got opportunities that lie elsewhere, somewhere not near but rather 3000 miles away.

You can understand something even if you can’t relate: those who get jealous of their friend’s accomplishments, no matter how big or small, always stem from a certain insecurity. It can be that they wish they would be in their place, to achieve what they couldn’t. These friends don’t wish you the best for they want the best for themselves.

What I can’t understand but relate to though, is how my friends make me the proudest for how successful and amazing they set themselves out to be. They have embarked on journeys of which I only dreamed of, and so I feel somewhat negative, that I couldn’t be as great as them. I find myself drowning in thoughts that have not just consumed me, but are the skin that I live in.

Knowledge is a big part of me, I know these feelings stem from closed doors and missed opportunities that were just not my call to take. Yet, with so much knowledge, I refute the misjudgments and cheer for my friends for I feel so proud to call them my loved ones, I just wonder if they are as proud of me.

I shoulder many burdens that life has gifted me — wrapped in blue, curled ribbons, wrapped in perfectly cut wrapping paper, somewhat picturesque. I carry these worries in commonality with those around me and those who aren’t. The art of overthinking is something I believe, unfortunately, has been mastered by many.

I imagine my successes are very different from others: my stories, my goals, and even the steps to achieve them. I never imagined what it would be like to feel unequal to those you love, even for a millisecond.

How to rid myself of these thoughts is something I’ve pondered about for a while, and with math equations, it’s clear-cut: 1+1=2. With irrational, and overwhelming thinking, it is more tangled. I promised myself to untangle it to avoid hurting myself, to not unintentionally hurt those that I love.

As humans, we are deemed to live life as differently as possible, for if we all lived the same story, we wouldn’t be promised greatness at all. Imagine the similar stories, the monotonous daily lives, how dull would it be to not cry sometimes and to choose to pick yourself up rather than succumb to your stressful thoughts about what life didn’t gift you?

I will cheer on their success as they cheer on mine, even if the voice in my head gets a little too loud sometimes, for I have also achieved many of what they couldn't. The greatness we carry lie in the way we respond to other’s successes, for we fail to acknowledge that this life is not promised for us the way that we desire, but rather within the capability of which we can maintain. I might not be the person that I am today if I were to achieve every goal I ever dreamt of, and so I understand why I haven’t, why my loved ones did. Our stories, no matter how desired by others and not necessarily by ourselves, are still our greatest story to tell, how we lived a life so spontaneously that we mastered many arts, even the ones we didn’t want, but might have needed without truly realizing it. I promised my loved ones my support and myself the many years of joy to come, without breaking parts of myself trying to redeem for things I cannot have. My art is the love I have for old souls and the many thoughts I carry, even the confusing ones that leave me weary.