Skip to main content

The Middle Path

Image
By
All too often, we encounter situations that provoke fear or disgust, and instead of responding with thoughtfulness, we instinctively swing to the opposite extreme. Rather than pausing to understand the underlying issues or approaching them with balance, we react impulsively, believing that distancing ourselves as much as possible is the safest course of action.

Ironically, this approach often leads us straight into the very situation we were trying to avoid — only in a slightly altered form. In our attempt to escape one perceived danger, we blindly run into another, failing to realise that both are merely different sides of the same coin.

Take, for example, the way people react to financial hardship. Many witness others struggling under the weight of debt, losing their assets, or even facing bankruptcy. The sight of such instability fuels their determination to avoid the same fate, leading them to adopt an extreme approach to financial security. They dedicate themselves obsessively to work, saving every penny, and planning meticulously for the future. While these habits are often seen as prudent, taken too far, they can become a prison of their own making.

In their relentless pursuit of financial stability, they inadvertently rob themselves of the joys of the present. They decline experiences that bring happiness, avoid any expenditure that isn't strictly necessary, and prioritise accumulation over fulfilment. Over time, they become enslaved by money in a way not so different from those who fall into financial ruin — despite believing they were doing the exact opposite.

The same dynamic plays out in countless other areas of life. People who were raised in chaotic households may grow into adults who crave control so obsessively that they struggle to adapt to change. Others who have seen relationships fall apart due to emotional dependency might go to the opposite extreme — avoiding intimacy altogether for fear of losing themselves in another person.

Avoidance, however, is not the same as wisdom. True understanding comes from recognising patterns, not just rejecting them. When we allow past experiences — or our fear of them — to dictate our choices without reflection, we risk trading one set of limitations for another.

Balance lies not in running from what we fear but in understanding its causes and learning how to navigate them wisely. Only by embracing this perspective can we avoid the pitfalls of extremes and find a path that leads to true freedom and fulfilment.
Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

The Fallacy of Self‑Sufficiency

By
Some people will tell you — quite loudly, usually — that they are enough. They need no one, thank you very much. Entirely self‑made. A closed circuit. I, too, fancied myself an island at one time. A small, sturdy principality of one. I paid my own bills. Made my own tea. I even spoke aloud to myself in the supermarket queue, which was meant to prove something. But late at night, when all the heroic independence had been done for the day, there it was — a sort of homesickness without a forwarding address. You know the feeling. You’re supposedly sovereign, but you still wish someone would knock. Self‑sufficiency is a word that weighs a bit too much. It sounds like an insurance policy or a piece of camping equipment. It promises freedom, but only the kind you can fit in a box. Like eating an entire birthday cake alone — which, I confess, I’ve done. Because the truth (and it arrives, as truths tend to, when you’ve just burned your toast) is that we are made of others. We are es...
2 comments
Read more

The Progressive Misreading of Silence

By
At 5, I entered rooms like a murmur. I was already listening for something behind the noise — something older than voices, softer than footsteps. “He’s such a well-behaved boy,” they said, smiling with relief. But what they mistook for virtue was only quiet intuition. I was not good. I was attuned. At 11, I had mastered the art of presence without weight. I could sit by the window for hours, watching the wind pass through the trees like thought through the body. “He’s quiet,” they would say — gently, but with a trace of discomfort. They couldn’t name the feeling of someone watching without need. At 17, I was called “mature.” But maturity is not a virtue — it is a scar. I had already seen the shape of endings before others saw beginnings. Friends came to me like tide to stone, hoping to be held. I held them, yes — but not always with words. Sometimes silence is the only honest offering. At 24, my stillness no longer charmed. The world asked for brightness, momentum, performa...
Post a Comment
Read more

Clarity Begins Where Pretence Ends

By
At some quiet juncture, without spectacle or warning, the architecture of one’s life begins to feel misaligned. The roles once worn with ease grow heavy; the rhythm once followed now falters. In that stillness — where noise gives way to unease — emerges a longing not for more, but for truth. Not the polished kind offered by others, but the raw clarity that demands a reckoning with who we are, beneath all that we’ve built. At that point, we no longer seek applause, distraction, or even resolution. What we seek is clarity — elemental, grounding, liberating. But this clarity is not the kind that flatters. It is not decorative. It is not curated for display. It is the kind that requires dismantling illusions, reordering assumptions, and exposing the scaffolding that holds our being together. To know oneself is not a sentimental pursuit. It is an architectural one. Each insight is a cornerstone; each falsehood identified, a wall removed. We begin, not with grand gestures, but wi...
Post a Comment
Read more