Posts Tagged ‘anxiety’

Structure and Everyday Life

January 28th, 2008

This morning as I rode out towards Domlur, a sudden anxiety and fear gripped me. I do not have a daily routine in terms of “work”. Yes, I do the domestic work in the morning and in the evening. But I do not go to an office. I have to create my own deadlines for work and my own work routine. Since I work on a project basis, the moment one project gets over, I get gripped by a queasy, uncomfortable feeling in the neck – what next? now what do I have to look forward to? And then begins a desperate search for some more work. In the process, I don’t know where I am going. Just scrounging for more work, instead of trying to do what I really enjoy. But then, what do I really enjoy? (I don’t think I am even enjoying the act of writing now!)

So this morning, as I rode out to Domlur, I was gripped by that queasy, uncomfortable feeling of being out of “work”. What then is work, I ask myself? To me, it is what defines a structure. And the comfort is the structure, even when you are not actually doing the work. When that structure collapses, what do you do? It is discomfort. Every day has to be lived on a day to day basis. Now you are a master of your own time. But that mastery is itself unnerving because we are used to being slaves to time.

This morning, as I rode out to Domlur, I was gripped by that queasy, uncomfortable feeling of being out of “work”.  The structure has collapsed. Now will I build another one?

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Writing by Footsteps …

January 28th, 2008

So what now? …

After one and a half years (or maybe more), I decided I had to write. Why did I decide I had to write? This decision goes back to a few years where the act of writing was an exercise in self-reflection. As I wrote, the reflections automatically appeared in the words. My vulnerabilities, my anxieties, my angst, my excitement, my passion, everything about me was reflected in the words. Writing was meditation, mediation and release.

I wrote about cities, about people. I was the observer and the observed. One and a half years ago, I moved to Bangalore. I lost touch with the city and with writing. Somebody once said that when you get more and more professional, you start reordering your priorities and you rarely go back to doing all the things you wanted to do. I wonder now whether with this initiative to write, I am getting back to home. Yeah, it is questionable as to where is home and what is home. For now, let me admit that my words are my home. In them I seek warmth and comfort. In them, I find myself. The act of writing then is the act of finding myself, of grounding myself, of placing myself.

I had exquisite stories to tell when I was writing about the city. When I decided to reopen writing, I wondered where the words would come from. Earlier, the words came from the act of walking through the city, traveling in myself and in the environment such that there was no difference. This time, where will the words come from? What will I write about? I don’t know … And this not knowing has been preventing me from writing. So let me step into the unknown for once and figure out things for myself anew.

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