Tell us about the last thing you got excited about.
Lately, I’ve been asking myself a strange but honest question:
When was the last time I felt genuinely excited about something?
Not just “looking forward to it” or “distracted by it” — I mean that full-body feeling of joy, anticipation, and energy.
And the truth is…
I can’t remember.
Maybe it’s the burnout I feel when I’m sleeping in the backseat of my car at work, five days a week at 4am, more than my bed, just to get parking.
Maybe it’s the way my routines flatten time and the days begin to melt together. I’m either mentally a day ahead or a day behind, but rarely in the present.
Maybe it’s grief, or fatigue, or the quiet sense that nothing really hits the way it used to.
None of the books, comics, games, or projects I have a backlog on excite me the same as:
When I attended to my first anime convention in high school and cosplayed as the Aya Brea (Parasite Eve) version of Lightning Farron (Final Fantasy 13).
When I hit a royal flush on a poker machine for my 21st birthday.
When I overcame a video game boss from Elden Ring or Bloodborne after dying how many times and countless retries.
Or when Borders used to be open and I would spend my time there, browsing and looking over what books were there.
I drew something I genuinely like then criticize it for “not being good.”
When I wrestled for 1 year, overcame a lot of challenges, because I was someone with no talent, no skill, no strength, and zero athletic ability, but I showed up anyways, even when the cards were stacked against me.
These are simple examples, they hold meaning for me, but not excitement.
Either way, I still create. I still write. I still publish these posts nearly every day — sometimes out of discipline, sometimes out of obsession, sometimes out of anger to do something, or just because I’m trying to not go completely numb.
Some days it already feels like I have gone emotionally numb.
But then something small happened.
And it reminded me what it feels like to be seen.
A person commented on one of my posts — specifically, the one titled:
That post came from a real place. It wasn’t crafted to get clicks. It was just a question I had… one that lingered in my head, one I felt compelled to ask out loud, instead of letting it fester in my head.
And someone responded.
Not just with a “like.” Not with silence.
They spoke back.
This person shared how they had been on WordPress for 11 years now — That they’ve felt and thought the same way — writing into the quiet, wondering if anyone ever truly connects through these posts or acknowledges the work we painstakingly share.
Their comment hit me harder than I expected. It was simple, short, and it felt honest.
Because it told me that the echo I sent out wasn’t lost into the void.
Something bounced back — not as noise, but as a voice.
A person.
Someone who understood.
For myself, after almost three months of writing, after 45+ posts, after wondering if I was just building an invisible archive of thoughts, even though I am, — this moment reminded me why I’m still doing this.
Maybe I still can’t name the last thing I felt excited about.
But I can name the last time I felt heard.
And for now, that means more than excitement.
So, thank you — to that one person who commented.
And to anyone else out there silently reading.
Even if you don’t say anything, maybe one day… you will.
And when you do, when you drop in to say, “hi”, I’ll be here.
Here’s some more pieces of this convoluted puzzle I call my life, work, and thoughts down below, just to see what else is there, or if you resonated with what I’m writing.
I Thought I Was Behind — Something Else Was Calling Out to Me.
I thought I was having a quarter-life crisis at 28.
It hit me like a booming panic that grew louder each day: this feeling that I wasn’t doing enough, hadn’t achieved enough, wasn’t becoming enough.
I kept looking at what I thought I was supposed to have by now — by society’s standards, by other people’s timelines, by the noise in my own head.
But the more I sat with it, the more I realized…
I wasn’t falling apart.
I was just going against everything I was taught to measure myself by:
I’m not married or have a partner.
I don’t have a degree.
I work 2 jobs and sleep in the backseat of my car five days a week — by choice, not because I’m homeless, but because parking at my full time job is horrendous, and I can’t afford to waste time or money.
I sleep by 9pm or 11pm and wake up at 2am, I drive to my warehouse job, park, learn to code on my phone in the dark, and sleep another hour or two before my shift starts. I try to rest, but my mind runs rampant, my back seizes in pain, and my stomach hurts from running on snacks instead of food.
I make $23/hour — decent by some standards — I get paid weekly, and I have a plan to utilize every paycheck. At my full-time job, I contribute 10% of my income to a 401k, with an 8% company match. I’ve grown that account to over $40,000 in three years — without a degree, without help, without shortcuts.
My part-time job at a rage room pays $16/hour and every 2 weeks. I save 15% from that paycheck and put it into a rainy day fund, just in case.
I’ve been investing $50 a week into my Roth IRA for two years. It’s now over $8,400.
I’ve rebuilt my emergency fund to over $1,500 by saving $50 a week into a high-yield savings account.
I’m still paying off $15,000 in personal debt and I’ll have this done by June-August of 2026.
I can cook. I can clean. I know what my priorities are, and I can take care of myself because I’m worth taking care of deep down, even if I don’t believe it.
This might not look impressive to most people. Maybe all of what I shared doesn’t look impressive to you either.
But it’s real. It’s earned. And it’s mine.
I Chose To Do Something Then Settle Again
I don’t have all of the answers, I don’t know what I’m doing, but I chose to take action despite my fear and agonizing over whether I’m crazy, too much, or just accept what I’ve been given.
I walked away from a 10-year friendship that made me feel small, I stopped chasing people that wasn’t aligned with who I am or made me feel unwanted, even after sharing what was on my mind — I’m single, I’m asexual, and I don’t need to fill a void with a warm body and more empty promises.
Or worse, being kept around so that other people can feel good about themselves, instead of wanting me around because they enjoy my company.
I’ve traveled with family — to different states and even internationally. I’ve seen Seoul, Sapporo, Otaru, and Hokkaido. I’ve stood in places I used to only dream about. And still, I carry this feeling like I’m falling behind.
Because the world doesn’t clap for quiet work.
It doesn’t validate survival.
It only notices “success” when it fits a clean narrative:
If you have a successful multi-million dollar business.
If you own a lot of real estate or assets.
If you have a lot of connections or opportunities.
If you’re already “gotten everything figured out.”
Things that I don’t have right now, but know that it could be another thing to work towards.
How I Am During These Moments
I’m tired most days.
I’m angry more often than I’d like.
I don’t eat full meals because there isn’t time.
I don’t get enough restful or restorative sleep.
I can be rude, spiteful, and rigid. I don’t feel joy at my full time job, and I’m feeling myself slowly retreating internally at my part time job. I don’t feel much of anything, most days.
But I’m still here.
I’m still drafting, writing, and sharing.
Still building something, even if no one sees it yet.
The truth is:
I’m not afraid of getting older.
I’m afraid of running out of time with nothing to show for my life.
I just wonder if anyone feels the same – that we’re sharing, but not connecting as we might have thought we were, expert or not.
-The Stratagem’s Archives
Are We Sharing, Or Just Speaking Into the Void?
I had always wanted to start a blog; it was something I wanted to do since high school, but never pursued it. After years of wishing, wanting, and agonizing over why I wasn’t good enough to write, I finally hit that “publish” button in late June of 2025.
This was an idea that lingered — something I told myself I’d do one day, when I had more time, more to say, or more certainty about what I even wanted to write.
I finally stopped waiting, I finally gave myself a chance and do something new, even though it scared me.
When I first started writing, I thought I learned enough to share what strategies I use for my own life and that I could share my ideas and thought with other people.
However, I’m not an expert, I don’t know what I’m doing a lot of the time, and I’m okay with this.
I’ve created this space to become my personal archive — a place where I share what I’m learning, what I’m unlearning, and what I’m still sitting with. It’s not always neat. It’s not always deep. But it’s mine, it’s real, and that’s enough for me.
Still, sometimes I wonder:
Are we really connecting in these spaces, or are we all just publishing and scrolling past each other?
I’m not upset about it. It’s something else.
It’s more like… curiosity mixed with quiet disappointment.
Like when you wave at someone across the street and they kind of wave back, but you’re not sure they even saw you.
I see “likes” on my posts, and I’m grateful. I really am.
But sometimes I wonder:
Did anyone actually read it? Did what I write sit with them like it sat with me when I wrote it?
Because when I click “like” on someone else’s post, I’ve read it.
I’ve usually felt something.
Sometimes I comment. Sometimes I don’t know what to say. But I try to engage, because I came here to do more than just tap and scroll.
What Were We Hoping For?
When we started these blogs — whether on a whim, in a spiral, during burnout, or because of that one night where the urge to write finally won — what did we hope would happen?
I think a lot of us wanted to:
Share what’s on our minds.
Feel less alone.
Maybe build a quiet corner where people think similar to us.
And I still believe that’s possible.
But connection, real connection, seems harder to come by than we expected. At least, to me it is. It’s not automatic, not even in this age of platforms and algorithms.
I write because I’m afraid of wasting my life and having nothing to show for it.
I’m afraid of watching life slip by while I waste it — even if I end up wasting it by:
Procrastinating.
Getting easily distracted.
Filling my time with “productive habits and activities” that aren’t going anywhere right now.
But I choose to write, I make things, I learn something new and interesting, and I archive my thoughts. I press publish — even when I don’t know if anyone’s reading.
This Isn’t a Call for Validation
It’s a moment of wondering:
Do you feel this too?
Do you feel the same, that we’re writing into some void?
Does it feel like writing, hitting publish, and simply waiting to be noticed by someone feels like a knife driven into your chest?
If you’re reading this, and it resonates, I’d love to hear what keeps you writing.
Or what you hoped your blog would be when you started, or simply say, “hi”, in the comments below..
If you’d like to check out any of my other works, just to take a look, then these other articles might give you more pieces to the puzzle I’m trying to unravel and decipher myself below.
Real fast before you move on, a few questions if you’d please:
What post of mine stuck with you—and why?”
“What would you want to see more of?”
“Would you support this space if I offered a way to?”
Until then — thanks for reading, even silently. The archives will be closing now, and I’ll see you when the archives opens again.
“…I’m striving to reduce fear’s hold on me and to expand my options. To use my anger against myself, circumstances, other people that irritates me for something constructive…”
My Goals Go Through a Process – Archivist
I hate feeling small, worthless, useless, and like a failure. This doesn’t have to be just feelings in a workplace, but also in my relationships too.
If I feel this same anger, spite, and the regret that taking no action will lead to feeling even worse regret, then I will take necessary action. I’ve done plenty of reflecting, it’s just a matter of doing the extra work of following through.
Many of my goals, curiosities, and actions do come from a place of mild obsession. So, after years of telling myself, “don’t do that or I’ll fail,” I flipped it around and started to say, “If I DON’T do that, then I’ll have actually failed.”
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My first experience with C++ was a spectacular failure.
Ten years ago, I walked into a university computer science class with zero coding knowledge and a very big dream: I wanted to make my own video games. That dream quickly turned into a nightmare of syntax errors and confusing concepts. By the end of the semester, I had a D- on my transcript and a deep-seated belief that coding just wasn’t for me.
My path to that point didn’t help. Unlike many of my classmates, I never had a computer science class in high school. While they were building projects, I was learning a trade with my building and construction major. My only prior experience was messing around with RPG Maker on my English teacher’s computer—a memory I’d long since buried under the weight of that D-.
For a decade, that D- was the last word on the subject. I told myself it was fine; there were other things to learn, other paths to take. But the idea of building something from scratch never completely left me. The curiosity was always there, simmering in the background.
Then, just 13 days ago, I decided to face that old ghost. I wasn’t going back to a university classroom or picking up a massive textbook. Instead, I’m starting from the very beginning with an app called Mimo.
This isn’t about getting a certification or a perfect grade this time, though that would be pretty useful. It’s about proving to myself that I can learn this, that my past experience doesn’t define my potential, and that maybe, just maybe, I can turn that old dream of making games into a reality.
In this series, I’m going to share exactly what it’s like to start over with a skill I thought I failed at. Part two will dive into the specific tools I’m using to learn, and part three will cover the lessons and progress I’ve made so far. If you’ve ever felt like you’re not smart enough to learn something new, or you’re stuck on a skill you gave up on, this is for you.
Join me on this journey as I get back to the basics and finally build the coding skills I once thought were out of reach.
The archives will now be closing, I will see you in part 2, and until we open again. Thank you!!!
I’m not an expert—I’m a learner.
If you’re into stories about figuring things out, trying again, and making progress on your own terms, hit that subscribebutton and join me on the journey.
Where I live is the only place I’ve ever known; I’ve lived alongside the ocean all of my life and besides the mountains, so you could say I live directly between the sea and the mountains. I’ve lived in the “country”, though it’s not purely country like the mainland, but it is for us because it’s far out of the way of any tourist attractions.
It’s also considered “ghetto” and, people outside of the state need to understand that “paradise” has its own share of troubles, has a lot of issues. I remember, before moving out, that our neighbors were climbing their fences one night and called my dad. My parents and I went out looking towards the neighbor behind us’s property and our next door neighbor said he saw 2 kids climbing on the roofs of people’s garages to get into everyone else’s yards.
We’ve had issues with the surrounding distant neighbors, but kids sneaking in the dead of night and trespassing into other people’s properties? That was a new and terrifying development.
We’ve had fires, water mains breaking, rolling power outages, cops and fire fighters and EMTs showing up at random times throughout the day and night that it was normal.
My city literally only has one way going in and one way going out, there’s no other way to get to it unlike the other cities that are connected by the highways, freeways, and backroads. So, getting home would take between 2-3 hours before, maybe longer, because of traffic and the long traffic lights. Though that was before I moved to a different city, but it was home.
Renting in a different city is different because I don’t have the luxury of my own space as before. Don’t get me wrong, I’m renting a studio and I have the place to myself, but having neighbors just less than a feet away from my door is stressful.
I could play with my dogs, let them run around in the yard without much problems, I could eat as much ice cream or chocolate shakes if we had because my city has a dry heat to it. Even with a nice breeze, it would carry heat instead of cooling us down, though privacy was ensured from people we didn’t like.
Our neighbors were good, we’d help each other out, I’d pick mangoes from our tree when they bloomed and make sure to share. Our neighbor’s wife would offer us mango bread in turn, she’s good friends with my grandma, and it was nice. We didn’t expect anything, though it became a ritual.
I’ve visited a decent amount of places over the years in my lifetime:
California
Texas
Texarkana
Las Vegas
Colorado
South Korea
Japan
Even though a lot of places were nicer than where I lived, it never felt like a place that I could call home. Everywhere else, though this isn’t to say it’s true, felt disconnected. It didn’t feel like a place I could call or make it a home because I’ve never stayed long enough to explore that possibility.
I do miss living near the ocean and smelling the salt being carried on the breeze, seeing the white haze on an early morning drive because the water churned up so much salt, and getting a nice view of the night sky because there isn’t as much light pollution.
I miss my family as well, I do what I can to visit and keep in touch, but when I was presented with an opportunity to experience independent living, I took it. They won’t be around forever, so learning what it’ll be like without them will be a lot, it is a lot to think about, so I better do what I can and appreciate and irritate them while I can.
Throughout the entirety of my personal journey – betting on myself and moving ahead with projects I had postponed – I hadn’t been gripped with a shadow of “positive emotion” in a long time.
I sat with the emotions I usually feel: anger, resentment, bitterness, and regret. But beneath them was something else, something subtle, and fleeting, yet it made itself known.
Pride.
Resilient.
Persistent.
In the moments where my demons surface, beneath their screams and shouts is something quieter; when it seems all of the work I’ve been putting in to build something I can call my own, to live my life on my own terms, is for naught, it whispers, “keep going.”
These emotions: my pride, my resilience, and my persistencewill channel my anger and regret into something better, beautiful, and enduring for my life to matter.
A sketch of my job’s mascot representing a person’s (mental and emotional) prison FINALLY getting a chance to be let out in a rage room.
I Would Like To Rage!!! In A Rage Room!
“Ever felt that bubbling rage boiling up from within the pit of your soul? You know the feeling: Your body begins shaking, you feel your hands curling and clenching, your breathing becomes shallower and fast, your vision begins to narrow and sound becomes less noticeable, and you feel the need to exert energy and force.
Many of us keep our emotions bottled up, afraid of judgement and the consequences that will follow if we act on our anger indiscriminately and lash out.
That’s where a Rage Room comes in!
A Smash room, a break room, a destruction room, whatever you want to call them, these rooms will allow you to safely explore these feelings that are commonly frowned upon in civilized society in a safe, controlled, and sanctioned environment.
Observations From A Rage Room Attendant
As a rage rooms attendant, I’ve seen a lot of different people enter the rage room for their own reasons. Many people, after getting everyone comfortable with the idea with breaking and destroying things, are initially visiting for a few reasons:
It’s a company team building experience.
A family or friend outing.
Are looking for novelty.
Celebrating something significant.
Going through a lot of stress and emotions.
Had been hurt, betrayed, or been through a break up.
After they pick their items, are suited up, given the safety rules, and put into the rooms, depending on the size of their party, it’s usually free game within their 30-45 minute time slot.
Some people are awkward and don’t put too much force behind their swings or throws that I tend to find a lot of things left unbroken that I can give to the next group to break.
Although, most visitors are military, so they fall into one of two categories:
They are either so efficient that they are in and out of the room in under 5 minutes, likely due to their efficiency and training, while others take their time and enjoy themselves after being on tour.
Then there’s those who are doing this for fun with friends and family, or people who are celebrating a huge win for their company and they actually like and enjoy their coworkers enough to do an outing, and or someone is leaving their company and this is a farewell gift(a pretty cool and memorable one in my opinion).
I’ve seen the people who have had their hearts broken. There is nothing more painful and rage inducing than hurt, pain, and loss. When they enter, some are willing to share that they’ve gone through a break up, they still have a smile or neutral expression on their face, but others you can tell only by the type of music they play when the room door closes. It’s pretty obvious and we can see their behavior on the cameras to make sure they’re doing okay.
Real World Examples In Action
I remember a group of women, three friends, came in because one friend was going through heartbreak. All three were extremely enthusiastic when in the room that I saw they were stomping on a CPU unit after being told not to in the safety briefing.
Fun can make people myopic, but they knew what they were getting themselves into and we made sure they didn’t do anything to really hurt themselves or each other.
Another visitor was a high school boy and his good friend. He was visiting because he was going through a break up, and from what the dad, and the boy’s choice in music, told me.
The second I heard, “Photograph, Thinking Out Loud, and Perfect” by Ed Sheeran, ‘I’m Not The Only One” by Sam Smith, “It Will Rain” by Bruno Mars, and other sad sounding love songs, I knew what was happening.
The Pro’s of A Rage Room
I may be a rage room attendant trying to endorse people to try something I work at, but I’ve seen the benefits of people taking their frustrations out with us than outside in the world. Besides novelty, a Rage Room:
Allows for safe and immediate release of anger and excess emotions: Why destroy things outside and get arrested, when you can do so someplace designed for this kind of release?
Accessible and low-commitment: Unlike therapy or martial arts gyms, you don’t have to commit to scheduled sessions. You can walk in, smash and scream, drink water, and leave and return whenever you want.
Provides cathartic support: You don’t have to talk, no one has to listen, it’s just you in a room with things to break, a few lead pipes and sledgehammers, and the world doesn’t have to bat an eye to you in that room. Except us employees. Whatever happens in the rage room, stays in the rage room(unless you’re recording on your phone).
What Are the Downsides?
The cons are just as important to know as the pros. They do make a difference if you want to give it a try or not, but it’s not always a make or break deal. Visiting a rage room isn’t always the best solution. A rage room:
Can be expensive: It’s a better investment than bail, but the money could be better used towards therapy or a martial arts classes.
It doesn’t address the root cause or emotion for the visit: rage rooms are meant to be fun, novel, and an outlet for sublimation, but it’s not a solution. Rage rooms can’t provide skills or strategies to deal with anger or excess emotions that professional help is better equipped to do.
It could reinforce destructive behavior: Ironically, though we do have repeat customers, a rage room might reinforce someone’s inclination to deal with their emotions through destructive means. I’m not suggesting that these repeat customers fall into this assumption, but people are interesting and might cling to this outlet as the only solution they can get.
Not readily available in your area: Rage rooms are a growing trend, but aren’t everywhere. My workplace is the only one in my state, so some people have to take a drive down or need a plane ticket over. It’s another reason to consider long-term and local alternatives instead.
Do Rage Rooms Have Anything Else?
Yes, as far as my job goes, Rage rooms do have other means of letting excess energy out. People don’t have to come in angry to enjoy the services my job can offer, though some people are usually in need of a different kind of release. One not catering towards destruction, rather one that’s more creative.
We have a Zen Lounge where people can relax, talk stories, and chill after a rage room session or before entering the Splatter Room.
A Splatter Room is an open paint room where you can shoot paint at the walls, the provided canvases, or each other with paint guns or the paint kits.
It’s a different and creative release some people appreciate instead of wanting to break things when they don’t feel compelled to.
We do provide safety gear: ponchos, eye wear, and boots to protect people’s clothes and eyes as best as possible, but friends and family make that difficult when fun’s involved.
Being creative can be just as cathartic as the rage room as it lets you be physical and you don’t have to care what you create, compared to painting a masterpiece or someone’s house.
What About The Overly Enthusiastic Individuals?
Some people have asked, other than what items they are allowed to bring to smash from the outside, if they could bring the person who hurt them in to smash. Other than an obvious, “no”, I’m able to suggest another alternative.
An Alternative To Rage: Martial Arts
I’ve done wrestling and Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu prior to working at the rage room, so I suggest that people can visit a sparring gym.
Any gym that offers sparring:
Boxing.
Kickboxing.
Judo.
Muay-Thai.
Wrestling.
BJJ.
ANY MARTIAL ARTS GYM.
Any good gym will teach you new physical skills and how to ensure you keep a level head. Anger doesn’t make a person stronger, no matter how much of a fan of Dragon Ball Z or Naruto: Shippuden you are.
Those are animes; we don’t live in an anime where we’re the main characters with plot armor. I know this intimately and from experience that anger makes you sloppy, predictable, and a sore loser who refuses to learn or adjust their approach to the sport and to life.
True Strength Lies Within
I had spent more than 10 years wrestling with my anger. During BJJ training, I didn’t care what happened to me, I wanted to see what I could do. Even if that meant enduring some locks or chokes because I didn’t want to tap out and I wanted to see if I could get out. My personal motto was, “If I can talk, I’m still breathing.”
However, I’ve been dealing with emotional numbness for years that a professor at my gym told me some people, and himself, thought something was wrong with me.
That kind of hurt because that told me people thought I was damaged in some way and it showed in my training. I was eager to learn and use my wrestling experience to help me learn a new sport, but I needed to FEEL something, anything, because I struggled to that wasn’t anger. So, once being told this, I tried to tap more, but my habits always kicked in, unless something really did hurt.
My training would suffer when I got mad; I would be blind to the countermoves, to the opportunities to attack and defend. I needed more energy, and my trade off was horrible in the end.
I hated training, I hated myself, and that hate made it difficult to learn or pay attention to the lessons being taught, in BJJ and in life.
I would rather train and spar than deal with the real reasons for my anger, but I did it anyways. I needed to because doing nothing would have gotten me into real trouble. Then what? I’d be in jail and have that on my record for life, making a lot of opportunities impossible and out of reach than it already is for me.
Therapy wasn’t the best fit for me when I tried it, but I’m not averse to trying again. Money is kinda tight right now, so I’ve started taking notes, noticing any changes in myself and what could have caused it, setting boundaries, having standards for myself, while pursing new outlets at home and on a budget.
Seeking professional help, even learning new skills, to redirect anger through a sport or art is more powerful than anger ever could be. It takes more strength and courage to do the things that scare us and I know well that facing my own demons are terrifying.
I’ve been noticing that some places in my life ignite the rage I’ve been keeping under wraps. It emerges when I feel disrespected, looked down upon, or made a fool of because I’m not conventionally successful or in a position of authority. I’m just a grunt at my full time job and it drives me up the wall.
Anger and sublimation are signals, not long term solutions, and are trying to tell you that something is wrong. Don’t let it consume you because you might do something you could regret.
Reflection
Have you ever gone to a rage room for its novelty, creative outlet, or needed to break something that wasn’t going to hit you back? If you did, share your experience with 1 word that described what it was like or how you felt when you visited.
I’d love to know what your opinions on them are in the comments below. No pressure. No clickbait. Just curious. Thank you, Fellow Archivists, I’ll see you all in another post.
Call to Action
If any part of this resonated with you — the release, the rage, the quiet that follows after — consider sharing this piece with someone who might need a reminder that it’s okay to break before you rebuild.
Every read, like, subscribe, and share helps this small corner of the internet grow a little louder in a world that keeps trying to quiet us down.
Below are other reflections I had on feeling anger, redirecting it, not feeling enough, and doing something different.
Many words have been used to the point that hearing it provokes a visceral reaction. I know that I tend to feel myself: tense up, I feel a noticeable thumping hitting the front of my skull, I’m mentally rolling my eyes, and letting out a heavy huff. It’s the only way that I’m able to release the bubbling irritation boiling within me, before returning to emotional numbness, especially when I’m at work.
The few words or phrases that tends to get a rise from me, in the sense that I want to drop kick whoever is talking, are:
Can you go do X? (Either I’m already or about to do it, or the person asking bypasses more than half a dozen people standing around just to ask me? That’s infuriating.)
Have you seen so-so? (I’m not getting paid to babysit young adults, no. Go bother the people who’s supposed to be training the new hires.)
[S/he’s] not doing anything! (Have you EVER noticed you’re doing the same thing? It’s irritating, nothings going to change, just do your job and leave. Still working on taking my own advice too.)
I want to go home already. (Me too, but we have to finish sorting the freight, then we can leave. But that’s wishful thinking on good days.)
These are other words and phrases I can’t think of at the top of my head, though it does make me want to drop kick people, but it also depends on how it’s being said.
Think of it like this; we all have our preferences and it will differ from the people we know and don’t know, right? However, have you ever heard one person speaking and their voice is pleasant, soothing, and makes you want to listen more intently? Okay, keep that in mind.
Now, imagine the most irritating, nail scratching, metal grinding metal, and obnoxious sounding person you can muster and saying the words you absolutely despise and are repeating it over and over again until you start to think your ears are bleeding. That makes those overly used words even more difficult to tolerate.
There’s nothing that can be done about it, sadly, it’s another lingo, and the best I can do for myself is to tune everything out and do what I have to do. No matter how angry, bitter, and resentful I feel, no matter how much I want to drop kick people, I just have to exist and let go.
For more posts like this, I have a few recommendation below, and I’ll see you over in the next ones!
The majority of the prompts I’ve answered since starting my blog had asked similarly, but worded differently, questions, and I had mentioned doing some physical activity. Walking had been my most prominent answer, although it’s true, this brings me contentment.
Peace on the other hand is different; I’ve lived near the ocean my whole life and, as a kid, I’d used to have to be dragged out of the water to leave. Some people have a strong connection to the ocean: they care for it and in return the ocean would care for us. Not in the same sense as we would care for our family and friends.
One of my grandma’s younger brother had take shrapnel from a grenade blast when he served in the Vietnam war as a young man. He was on and off medication because the doctors couldn’t remove all of the metal in his body because it would have led to him bleeding to death, so they left the metal in his body. It was until their dad took him fishing one day that, when he was out on the water casting a line, his pain felt far away.
Whenever I used to go swimming, I would never stray too far from the shore, I would feel at peace in the water. The saltiness of the water would let me float on my back, fill my ears and everything would feel and sound muffled, sand would end of getting into places you’d never want them to be, and I would stare at the sky and let the current take me adrift.
Being in the ocean, among the sandy shores, that hasn’t been fully contaminated by myriad of sun screen or boat waste, has been healing for both body and spirit.
Even though I haven’t visited a beach in years, being in a hot bath provides a similar feeling the ocean used to bring to me. That feeling, though fleeting and stretched into infinity, was being able to let go and drift.
No need to go anywhere, no obligations to fulfill, no noise about being a failure or a success or a nobody or a somebody, just being. Just breathing. Just existing.
The sea has its rules and ignoring it would lead to disaster:
Never face your back to the water, else a rogue wave comes and drags you in.
Never fight against the current, go with it until the current calms and you can swim.
Take care of the sea, make it better than you found it, and it will care for you.
Letting go and drifting in the water had brought me peace. It made me wonder if this is what moving on would feel like when my time comes, but I won’t know until I get there. The next time you’re in a large body of water, or even a simple bathtub, drift on your back, close your eyes and let the water envelope you.
