I’m constantly overwhelmed by participating in social media— I know, we all are. However, I’m not referring to it in the way you might initially think (though perhaps you are). I’ll do my best to explain it coherently…
I’m overwhelmed by how much there is to experience in my lifetime, yet I know I have no chance of achieving it all. Even if I were unimaginably rich, fulfilling every desire would be impossible— there simply isn’t enough time. While travel is part of what I’m referring to (and likely what you’re thinking as you read this), it’s not the biggest piece of the puzzle. I’m talking about the realization that I’ll never be able to read every book, see every film, or photograph as many people as I’d like. I immerse myself in the lives of others, witness things I long to do or accomplish, and then it hits me— most of them will remain out of reach. And with that realization, a wave of sadness falls over me.
Time is ruthless. We've all heard the phrase “life is short” from an adult in our youth, and as we grow older, we come to understand its truth. Yet even that cliché fails to capture the feeling I’m trying to describe. I feel incomplete, frustrated, frozen. Knowing that my time is finite doesn’t propel me forward; instead, it paralyzes me. You’d think the awareness of my own mortality would push me to chase every dream, to do more, to make the most of every moment. But instead, it often leaves me stuck, overwhelmed by the weight of everything I’ll never get to do.
“Tsundoku,” a Japanese word, describes the phenomenon of acquiring reading materials only to let them pile up, unread, in one’s home. It’s a fantastic word— a three-syllable feast that perfectly captures my reality (you should see my TBR pile). But my “tsundoku” extends beyond books; it applies to my entire life. I collect visions in my mind— places I can visit, people I can meet, furniture I can own, plants I can nurture, cats I can adopt, books I can read, lakes I can submerge in, fog I can disappear into, rugs I can stand on, museums I can wander through. A life full of possibilities, yet many will always be out of reach.
It's not infinite; time ensures an ending. I can't do it all. And here I am, overwhelmed yet again, writing this on social media.
I can relate to the overwhelm. It can be hard to pick which should be prioritised too, knowing another may never actually happen
Is that consolation for me in the afterlife? Will we find that house in the county so late In a senior second marriage? Is it here on earth? A shop to build metal sculpture or weld aluminum boats to fish from in retirement. It is my hope to put God first and everything else will be provided. What about Heaven, will I desire to create art where everything around me is new all the time and perfect? It's definitely difficult to make comparisons without being able to see the future. I think one day at a time is good to say to myself along with God is good. But it still makes me feel sad and hopeful at the same time. That's why I think I played a southern rock band song on the way to work today, "Dreams I'll Never See"-Molly Hatchet