Ironically, I can tap into fulfillment by intellectualizing futility. The cosmos will expand and contract, rendering all my concerns into laughable insignificance. My worries will wash away in a river of time. So I’ll relax into simple pleasures—the feel of hot water on my skin, green trees that rustle in the sun, cool blankets sliding against me.
When I intellectualize my actions into monumental struggles, I am often unable to viscerally appreciate, even when I’m “winning.” My enjoyment is tied to a narrative where I’m constantly fretting over my relative position, which is always being eroded by imagined opponents and unrealized circumstance.
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