Photo by Alexis Fauvet on Unsplash
Everyday we are constantly prompted by things we should desire.
During our weekly shop, the supermarket shelves are stacked with new, tasty products with shiny offers to tempt us. When we go to social events, our friends demonstrate a cool new trendy item of clothing. And when we commence our doomscrolling, social media apps bombard us with targeted ads of things to buy.
Yet one thing I’ve noticed over the last year is how much less I seem to desire these things. My general sense of ‘wanting’ has been extremely dulled.
When I reflect on this, I came to the question: is this enlightenment, or is this depression?
When I first went off on burnout twelve months ago, my desire to do things was practically non-existent. Even leaving the bed carried a sense of heaviness. And so, I would simply not leave. Many days simply doing nothing. I would have to actually force myself just to go to the supermarket.
The western medical world’s solution was to pass me some antidepressants to see if that would do something. And they did – I suddenly found I had a kick of more energy. Yet I still did not have much of a desire to do anything with it. And so I ended up returning to a state of entombment.
When I reflect upon the period before my burnout, desire was not a problem. Or perhaps it was – because I had too much. I had so many goals and tasks for myself that I was running myself ragged.
With the benefit of hindsight, I see that there is a heavy track record of an ADHD behavioural tendency. When I wanted something, I saw little reason to not just go ahead and do it. This has been great for allowing me to not get stuck in inaction. Yet it also came at the cost of running the desire treadmill at an ever-increasing pace. I got to the point where I was living as if I was poor due to investing so much in so many different activities. This was despite the fact that I had a good salary.
What led to the sharp decline was the sense that I was putting an ever-increasing amount of effort for ever diminishing returns. I naturally started questioning why I was even bothering. I think it was ultimately this that led to my burnout. It was not that I felt overworked, instead I just felt trapped.
With the benefit of a year’s rest and reflection, I’m noticing my energy return. And yet I find myself in this strange space where my desire for new things is still diminished.
Travel is an interesting example. I have little desire to go on some big adventure, perhaps gallivanting around South America or explore South East Asia. In the past, this would be the sorts of things I would jump at.
And so, is the sign of not wanting to travel the world a sign of depression – that I am fearful about leaving the comforts of my home? Or is it wisdom, realising that such trips are often an escapist fantasy?
Or is it simply just fatigue? After all, I should caveat this all by saying that I forget that I do actually travel a lot. I go to London to see my parents frequently, and only two months ago spent some days in Spain. I’m at a higher level of privilege to even be able to travel, when a century ago few people left the town they grew up in.
My conclusion is that the answer is probably a bit of everything. The mix of tiredness and fear does lead me to be more cautious around jumping into new endeavours.
But you know what? That’s probably a good thing. I wasn’t meant to be so haphazardly jumping into so many projects and people as I was perhaps doing.
As for the wisdom, well I certainly know far more about myself than I did even a year ago. Learning about autism has finally made me realise that I’ve been essentially paving over my own oddball preferences for the last three decades of my life.
I’m finally embracing that I do indeed love the weird mix of hyper-social / hyper-reclusive eat-the-same-thing-everyday mix. It doesn’t really make much sense to people (hell, it doesn’t really make sense to me).
I think I have also gained some wisdom about the world. Many of the get-rich-easy or become-more-sexy-quick schemes are selling a fantasy, rather than a reality. Most things that are worth it, take a long term, slow, accumulative dedication.
And so with this perspective, the desire for the new-and-flashy simply diminishes. I am far more circumspect around a lot of things. My energy is just far more precious to me than it was before. Indeed, I rarely eat or drink out anymore. Living in the higher cost of a Northern European country, it does not seem worth the cost. Particularly when I see that my eating preferences can be quite particular.
Of course, I’m not a saint, and I still do succumb to superficial desires. But that’s okay too. In fact, it can be rather fun. It’s better to ride out an ADHD hyperfixation rather than trying to block it out. Part of my learning as well is that I’m not meant to be perfect. I can enjoy the silly, childish things. Indeed, my collection of plushies are evergrowing.
I used to believe that personal development was all about shifting the feeling we ‘need’ something into something that we ‘want’. After all, wanting something is much better than feeling we need it.
Yet with more maturity, I am also seeing that we can also reduce our desires. Not that desire is a bad thing, but having too much of it can be super stressful. To take it political for a moment as well – from a revolutionary, anti-capitalistic perspective, one of the most powerful things we can do is reduce the hold that consumerism has on us.
So, dear reader, some questions for you to reflect on:
How is your relationship with desire?
Is it something you have too much of, or perhaps too little?
Message me if you would like to share your reflections