Confused and lost, in search for a practical philosophy of life, I encountered this notion and was immediately gripped with fear.

Why?

I reflected upon the ‘suffering’ (minor and limited as it may be) I have encountered and was able to trace every instance back to a form of ‘attachment’. The clinging to prior beliefs that made discussions into arguments. The refusal to let go of normative expectations in relationships leading to disappointment and conflict. The irrational basis of self-worth grounded in various notions of who I am inevitably bubbling up as insecurities.

Clearly, attachment is the source of all suffering. Thus, the next logical step in this journey towards inner peace is simple.

Eliminate all attachment.

Why the fear then?

Probing further, I knew that every moment of happiness I’ve experienced has also stemmed from attachment. My attachment to my beliefs that endowed me with necessary confidence to share my thoughts with others. My attachment to my friends and family that made inconspicuous moments into cherished memories. My attachment to notions of self, motivating me to continue to learn and improve to empower these self-perceptions.

Wrestling with these conflicted feelings towards attachment, I felt dread. It seemed that the path to serenity was bought with the sacrifice of all that made me happy.

But does it have to be this way?

While it cannot be contested that attachment is the source of all suffering, one could argue that attachment is the source of all happiness as well. The solution then is not to eliminate attachment itself, but to find a way to adapt your attachment constantly to maximize happiness and minimize suffering.

Hence, adaptive attachment.

Keeping in mind the risks that attachment can bring, we can hope to adapt how strongly we identify with our many attachments based on the situations. For example, it would be beneficial to maintain some attachment to your own ideas to give you the confidence to present them even when they go against the popular norm. However, a subtle yet constant awareness of the follies of attachment, would allow us to let go of them, as painlessly as possible, if we found these beliefs limiting our ability to grow and learn from others. In relationships, expectations of trust can enable us to be vulnerable, which often blossoms into deeper, more meaningful and ultimately happier interactions. But recognizing that there is no inherent basis for these expectations (a natural consequence of accepting the demerits of attachment), we can loosen our grip on these when they yield disappointment and guilt, rather than satisfaction and pride. Similarly, we can manage our notions of self and how they affect our self-worth. We can recognize when such feelings are galvanizing positive change in our lives and embrace them, but just as readily abandon them if they manifest as insecurities.

As I end this, I realize, the notion of adaptive attachment I put forth as an alternative to the abandonment of attachment might be precisely what is meant by letting go of attachment. Yet, personally, I feel that this particular formation of the idea resonates more deeply with me and perhaps with you too?

P.S. This view is likely filled with misinterpretations and regurgitations of the ideas from people a lot more qualified than me to speak on this topic, please do correct me / point me to more nuanced takes on these ideas in the comments.

He lives his life in his head.

Every frame a scene snatched out of a blockbuster movie.

Each moment with its precisely picked soundtrack — the world often simply dissolves into a montage of idealized reality.

Is he ever really living?

Or just trying to write a story he can love as much as the ones he reads in the best-selling novels?

This one’s got everything — action, drama, disappointment, hard-fought wins, bitter-sweet losses, heart-warming friendships, exhilarating romance,

every moment soaked in ‘emotion’.

The performance is phenomenal to say the least, the kind of performance that makes you forget that it’s all just an act.

A carefully crafted performance nonetheless.

Each step perfectly co-ordinated.

Each misstep meticulously scripted.

The critics themselves deceived into believing. There are no Oscars for this one. But how can there be, when no one even knows they’re watching?

It’s the show you see every day, the movie that never ends, the ceaseless turning of the reel, every snapshot bringing a whirlwind of surprises — each episode more riveting than the last, the protagonist ever unknowable.

But every once in a while, he slips out of character. The lines forgotten, he stares at the audience, unsure of himself.

What now?

The act unravels, the costume drops, the makeup smudged. The confidence falters. The resolve weakens. He finds himself lost. The character he was playing no longer feels a natural extension of himself, rather he is painfully aware of the facade. The mask suffocates him but its synthetic grip refuses to let go. He is struggling, struggling to be somebody, anybody, but be somebody truly, struggling to no longer pretend — struggling to be something more than his appearances, his words, his actions — struggling to be simply himself. Not what the world wants him to be, not what he wants to be, but just to be himself: to feel and live and breathe as himself. But just as he begins to grapple with the idea of who he really is, as begins to understand this long-lost stranger, the confidence creeps back in and stabs him with the delusion of resolve. He brushes away the moments of self-reflection with the disdain of a ‘better’ man, the comfortable smiles in no way belying the panic that had not less than a moment ago, seized his very existence.

The audience none the wiser, watches him effortlessly slide back into

the talk,

the walk

and just like that act’s back on.

The show goes on.

The winds still raging,

And the cold, cold, sea

Infinite and devoid of any being

Said I’m fine.

The hull cracking and splintering,

The storm never ceasing,

Yet the coast, far, further than the horizon

Still many miles away

Said I’m fine.

The clouds, a night blanket

Not warm or comforting, but suffocating,

The sun, a red smear, an open wound

Or perhaps it was the blood in his eyes

Said I’m fine.

All alone in this journey,

Too close to the bottom,

Fighting, a battle long lost,

Yet an island, always isolated

Said I’m fine.

Drowning, gasping, but life eludes him

Flailing, at the mercy of the sea

Struggling, sputtering, a single sound pierced the storm

A scream

Said I’m fine.

And then just an echo.

No I can’t do that — it’s been done before.

No — I’m ‘meant’ to be different.

No, I’m not like everyone else.

I have to be unique, don’t I?

And the worst part is, I’m not even unique in having this relentless drive to be unique — it’s the most common affliction there is. We scoff at ‘mainstream’ beliefs, we strive to ‘differentiate’ ourselves, we try to travel the ‘path less traveled.’ Its stifling — the constant dissing of ideas, thoughts, notions, practices, quirks — practically everything, simply because somebody’s already been there, done that.

I wish I could tell you that it’s okay to be just a part of the crowd. That it’s fine not to stand out, that being a follower is important too.

I sincerely wish I could,

But I’d be lying.

“Someday, I’m going to head a billion-dollar software company like Google and in my free time, I will be a Grand Master in Chess. I will give all the poor people jobs in my company. I will make sure that all the children on the road have food to eat.”

– the list went on.

Today, I may be older, the years may have tempered the grandeur with pragmatism, but I’m no less of a dreamer than the boy who thought he could do it all. Maybe I can’t tackle all of world poverty and hunger on my own, and maybe I can’t simply become a Grand Master in my free time. But I still believe that I can change the world.

And if you ask me, that belief is worth everything. Because, dreams are the reason I live each day of my life, deliberately.

Dreams. Because my dreams are not idle vanities in the dusty recesses of my mind, but blueprints for a tomorrow that I can create.

Dreams. Because the average human life consists only of 27,375 days. So, in the long run, nothing really matters, apart from the satisfaction of having lived a life in pursuit of your dreams.

Words can transform an ordinary sunny Tuesday afternoon into a wild escapade with a giddy sun trying to prove his might.

Words can make the passing eye contact with the pretty girl across the road, a fleeting moment of assurance in a world of uncertainties.

Words are all there is, to make an ordinary world, just a little more magical.

I write this as I’m scared I’m going to lose this thought — it’s slipping away. This sudden flow of consciousness and introversion seems artistically beautiful, and I want to capture it in words. I just finished watching Boyhood and it was the scariest movie I’ve ever seen. That may not be everyone’s first reaction, but the true message of Boyhood is hauntingly overwhelming — life may not have any greater purpose or meaning to it. “What’s the point of it” — Mason Junior asks his dad as he graduates from high school, crossing yet another milestone in his life. The harrowing beauty of the film is that nothing significant really ever happens. It confronts our most basic fear — the fear that we’re all just drifting through life, aimlessly. Even as I write this, I feel a part of me mock me as I delve into ‘art’ and its meaning. Did I read too much into the movie? Perhaps. My irrational desire to want to like this critically acclaimed movie, may have driven me to concoct an epiphany out of what was just a painfully slow drag that had some fluffed-up artistic intention. But the fears subtly hinted at by the protagonist, are fears I deal with. What if my life doesn’t actually pan out like a romantic action comedy with surprising twists and defining moments along the way? What if it’s just this — living day after day — chasing milestone after milestone — watching time just pass by?

The underlying optimist in me screams in horror even as I write this.

As we grow older, black and white blur into grey. Right and wrong are eclipsed by technicalities and loopholes. The little things that mattered to us, don’t anymore.

So when I say I didn’t take that ‘wrong’ left turn — you say, “Big Deal”. It was just a stupid turn, after all. Even if I had taken it the world wouldn’t have ended, would it?

No the world wouldn’t have ended, there wouldn’t have been any ‘real’ consequences, I would have even reached on time and after all who could blame me — it wasn’t my fault our car was in the wrong lane. No, the world wouldn’t have ended, but it should have, because the alternative would be far worse. Because the day I take the one illegal left turn, is the day I chuck that one piece of trash on the road, it’s the day I bribe that police officer to let me off just this time. It’s the day I lose what makes me honest. I lose what separates me from the very hypocrites I scoff at. The ones who have ‘matured’ — the ‘realists’. They say that I can’t possibly understand the circumstances, that I would have done the same thing if I were in their place.

No I wouldn’t.

They say these things are part of growing up, they tell me I’ll realize that I’ll realize soon that in ‘the real world’, there’s no space for such idealistic beliefs, they mock me. But it doesn’t matter because Today I didn’t take that left turn, Today isn’t the day that black and white blur into grey. It doesn’t matter because Today is another day I held on to my ideals in ‘the big bad real world’.

I hope Tomorrow is as good as Today was.