Today, I’ve been wondering on and off about the appropriate time to accept when something should be left at the hands of “fate,” so to say. The subject of fate, or even just a general idea of “destiny,” has been one that I’ve always been a bit hesitant about. Hesitant about considering, let alone even accepting. But it’s always been there, it seems. Lingering in the background and attracting attention to itself during the times that I’ve been inclined to think that it has some validity. Its presence sometimes lends credence to its own validity, I even vacillate on believing.
But on the other hand, it also seems utterly absurd. Utterly absurd that pre-destiny is an actual thing because then it renders everything that we strive to do futile. Accepting such an idea seems to signify us forfeiting control, and that is something that honestly is so disempowering. In effect, what do we leave ourselves with ? Control is a precious thing.
But at the same time, there are more darker sides to control. When too much of it seems to start to grip on to you. Precisely this is how I’ve felt. That I’ve allotted myself somewhat too much control over what I think will make me most comfortable and happy.
However, comfortability and happiness are not one and the same. Perhaps one can exist partly in the other, but I would be lying to say that I am happy and comfortable with the position that I’ve essentially driven myself into. Perhaps I may actually have put myself in a false sense of security, which would be most probably the worse case.
I don’t know, I’ve had such a gut feeling that I’ve just messed up. With what, the answer God only knows. I feel comfortable but I feel like I shouldn’t.