ฝึกพูดภาษาอังกฤษด้วยเทคนิค Shadowing จากวิดีโอ: this is enough.

What is fear?

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ความเร็ว:

117 ประโยค

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What is fear?

It's this expectation that the pain of yesterday is going to happen today.

What are schemas if not these rigid thoughts that I created in order to anticipate the pains of one's yesterday,

of one's childhood?

This fear of dying alone,

of being alone, of being unworthy, it's always anticipatory.

Convinced that I can somehow avoid it through hard work,

validation, success, or whatever, I nonetheless feel that in the end it will all inevitably lead to the same results.

Because these expectancies, these results,

are based on the past.

A past I can barely recall, let alone alter.

I can't think myself out of this one.

It's this exhausting, never-ending attempt to rationalize everything about myself.

Like, you know, you keep sharpening a pencil,

it's eventually going to run out.

Only then, when I do all of this thinking,

do I think, oh wow, I've solved myself.

So I attach to ideas,

philosophies, theories, people, half-baked images of the better me.

They fit into a logic,

they make sense, and they give me a sort of security.

And when they're threatened, that's where I feel the fear.

I act out of fear, out of desperation.

Instead of confronting these fears,

going through them, I go around them.

I avoid vulnerability.

I do not open up,

and so I do not let anyone in.

In the end, I cannot love.

Love and fear cannot coexist.

I fear myself, and so I cannot love myself.

I didn't find myself in Patagonia.

In fact, the whole trip was nothing more than the same old me doing the same old things in a new place.

But it gave me the false sense that I had.

This spectacle of interesting people,

interesting places, nonetheless left me unchanged.

One New Yorker writer likens travel to a boomerang,

it brings you right back to where you started.

Yes, I did begin to feel better,

and I feel much better now,

but this was only months after I realized that traveling all the way to the ends of the earth wouldn't fix me.

A relationship wouldn't fix me.

Universal admiration wouldn't fix me.

And eventually I came to realize that nothing would fix me.

That's because this entire time I saw myself as a problem to be fixed,

to be solved, to be reduced to a formula.

Self-help books, philosophies, religions, they give me an objective answer to the question of who I should be.

There is something impersonal about this technique.

Anyone can apply the formula.

Embedded within its own cluster of genetics,

interactions, experiences, and social influence,

how could I possibly apply a generic answer to the deeply personal question of who I am?

Being, then, is not a problem to be solved,

but rather a mystery to be experienced.

And only I can actively engage in this mystery.

I have lived a life in captivity,

an existence in which I have time and time again surrendered to these abstractions,

these limits I've put on myself,

and this is why I was so miserable,

driven by fear, bound to these ideas of who I am.

In doing so, I had neglected a sort of formless reflection involved in the present.

I had denied a receptivity to the world,

both externally and internally, in the service of maintaining these rigid self-beliefs.

Most of all, I had denied myself a certain unity with existence,

a unity crucial in understanding this mystery.

I had become a slave to myself.

This captivity was apparent in my relationships.

I failed to open myself up because I had locked myself into this idea of who I am,

an idea that I needed to retain in the hopes of solving myself.

And so I was never with someone truly.

I was always separate in the sense of hierarchy where I would see myself as superior or inferior,

but I wasn't with them side by side.

I had denied myself the ability to truly be with someone as a friend or lover,

with each of us bonded by a fellowship larger than ourselves.

This could only happen if I freed myself,

if I opened myself up to both give and be given to.

I must be strong enough to give and even stronger to ask for what I truly want.

My thoughts and schemas have directed my life to this point.

They themselves are driven by desire and fear.

By counter-attacking and escaping, I follow my desires and my fears.

I fear this, I desire that,

but there's something else that has driven me.

I'm not sure what it is exactly,

but it's the whole reason why I made this.

It's the whole reason why I'm still here.

And I don't know if it's an implicit part of human nature or an act of choice,

and hey, maybe it's a complete illusion.

It simply tells me that this is worth it in some sense.

I have faith that something good will come of this, whatever this is.

I suppose I have faith in living still, and still trying.

This is Marcel's idea of a strange hope.

Hope consists in asserting that there is at the heart of being,

beyond all data, beyond all inventories at all calculations of a serious principle which is in connivance with me.

It is desire open-ended,

an act of patience directed towards some form of salvation without any say in what such salvation will look like.

It involves a commitment to humility

which in other terms means a return to the present and the admission that I know very little about myself or others.

You know, people hold on to these images of father,

mother, husband, wife, again, for the same reason,

100

because they seem to provide some firm ground.

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But there's no wife there.

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What does that mean?

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A wife, a husband, a son.

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A baby holds your hands,

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and then suddenly there's this huge man lifting you off the ground,

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and then he's gone.

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Where's that sun?

108

All I know is that I don't actually know who I am.

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And that is okay.

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I never will.

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In fact, it is in those moments,

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in deep conversation, in love,

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face to face with beauty.

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Those moments where I've entirely lost myself.

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Where who I am no longer matters.

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A simple thought flashes.

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This is enough.

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