I’d lost it—the ability to give a fuck about anything that didn’t suck. Picture me, 30, post-NSW wreckage, knee shot, soul darker than a moonless op. Beer tasted like piss, laughs felt forced, even a sunrise was just another damn day to slog through. I’d forgotten how to enjoy a single goddamn thing—trapped in my own head, a miserable prick spinning in circles. Then something clicked: the way out wasn’t me—it was bigger. For me, it was mentoring some greenhorns, but it could be anything that yanks you past your bullshit. This ain’t some “find your bliss” sermon—it’s raw talk from a guy who was numb and stumbled back to life. If joy’s a ghost to you, let’s smirk at the void and figure out how to feel again. You’ve got a bigger spark in you—let’s light it.
1. Numb’s a Bastard (It Sneaks Up)
I didn’t see it coming—joy just drained out. Post-injury, I’d sit in my garage, tinkering with a busted bike, feeling jack shit. No thrill, no rage, just gray. Even wins—like nailing a PT milestone—hit like a shrug. Thought that was it: me, a walking corpse, done with good.
Sound familiar? Food’s blah, mates bore you, days blur? That’s numb, and it’s a quiet fucker. Doesn’t announce itself—just settles in ’til you forget what “happy” even tastes like. First step’s naming it: you’re not broken, just stuck. Stuck’s fixable.
2. Me Was the Problem (Self’s a Shitty Cage)
I’d stare at my own mess—knee, career, regrets—like it was the whole damn world. Every thought looped back to “poor me”: my pain, my loss, my fuck-ups. No wonder joy bailed—I’d built a cage out of my own skull. Sat there one night, bottle in hand, realizing I was my own jailer.
Check your lens: all “I, I, I”? That’s the trap. Obsessing over your shit shrinks everything—joy can’t breathe in there. You don’t need to ditch yourself—just zoom out. There’s more than your echo chamber, and that’s where the air is.
3. Bigger’s the Key (Find Your Thing)
My out was random—mentoring some NSW newbies. Limped into it, half-assed, thinking “fuck it, why not?” Then one kid—scrawny, scared—looked at me like I had answers. Me, a busted prick, had something he needed. Teaching him to rig gear, watching him not quit, I felt it: a flicker. First time in months I didn’t hate being alive.
Your “bigger” doesn’t need to be noble—could be a stray dog you feed, a kid you coach, a garden you don’t kill. Point is, it’s not you—it’s outside, pulling you up. Why’s this beat navel-gazing? It’s a lifeline—tethers you to something that ain’t drowning.
4. Start Small (Big’s a Lie at First)
I didn’t leap to “save the world”—that’s bullshit when you’re numb. First move was showing up for those kids, grunting advice through gritted teeth. Didn’t feel epic—just less dead. Next time, I stayed longer, cracked a joke. Flicker grew.
Pick a pebble: help a mate move a box, plant a damn seed, volunteer five minutes. Small’s not weak—it’s sneaky, slips past the gray. If grand feels fake, fuck that—tiny’s where joy sneaks back. Stack it, and you’re not numb anymore.
5. It’s Not About Fixing You (It’s About Forgetting You)
I thought joy meant “fix Chase”—wrong. Mentoring wasn’t therapy—didn’t heal my knee or erase the chaos. But focusing on those kids, their wins, their fuck-ups, I forgot to stew in mine. One day, I caught myself laughing—real, not forced—’cause one of ’em botched a knot like a drunk sailor.
Don’t aim to “feel better”—aim to lose yourself. Your bigger thing—dog, kid, whatever—takes the wheel. Why’s this beat self-help? You’re not the project; you’re the sidekick. Joy tags along when you’re not chasing it.
6. Shit Starts Tasting Good Again (Little by Little)
Once that flicker lit, stuff crept back. Coffee wasn’t just sludge—smelled decent. A buddy’s dumb story got a chuckle. Even rain didn’t piss me off—it was just wet. Didn’t hit all at once—more like rust flaking off, slow and sloppy.
Watch for it: a bite that’s not ash, a song that doesn’t bore you. Numb fades when you’re not the center—world gets color again. If it’s slow, fuck it—slow’s still moving. You’re not dead; you’re waking up.
7. Laugh at the Old You (He Was a Dick Anyway)
Looking back, I’d smirk at that numb prick—me, hunched over a bottle, acting like joy was extinct. “Fuck me, what a drama queen!” I’d mutter, mid-mentoring, as some kid faceplanted and grinned. Laughing at that gray version loosened its grip—let me enjoy the now.
Mock your numb ass: “Oh, poor me, life’s over!” It’s absurd—you’re still here, kicking. Humor’s a crowbar—prys you loose. Joy’s not gone; you just forgot where to look. Bigger shit shows you the way.
Conclusion
I’d forgotten how to enjoy anything ’cause I was stuck on me—finding something bigger was the key out. Internal shift: quit the “I” trap, spot the flicker, laugh at the gray. External move: pick a small “bigger,” lose yourself in it, let joy sneak back. I’m no joy guru—still a half-baked mess—but this pulled me out, and it can you. You’re not the point; they are, and that’s your ticket, you scrappy bastard. Go find it.
Fun Fact
Fun fact: They say focusing outward boosts dopamine—took me mentoring a kid to dope myself out of numb. Bigger’s brain candy.
Call to Action
What’s your “bigger” that yanked you out—or could? Drop it below—your numb days, your flickers, your chaos. If mentoring’s not it, try a stray cat—same vibe, different fur. Let’s keep this human train rolling.
No comments:
Post a Comment