Chapter 1
Today was a completely pointless, wasted day, and I just squandered it away, remaining glued to my bed. To be honest, everything feels like a blur. Oh, wait—now I remember. I spent hours trying to sign up for a work shift at a marketplace warehouse. I only did it because I am flat broke and desperately need a side hustle.
Afterward, I read a little bit of Castaneda’s Journey to Ixtlan. Don Juan told Castaneda that one must live like a warrior. And I thought to myself: perhaps this is my own challenge. This absolute inability to find a job—this is my war. Don Juan insisted that death is always close by. Every single fleeting moment, death is right there, standing on our left. My life could end in a heartbeat—today, tomorrow, or in five years. I actually broke down sobbing at that very thought, because the sheer truth of it hit me like a physical blow.
It is just so unbearable. Especially when I look back and realize how many years I have flushed down the drain, stewing in my depression over every minor grievance. Over forty years spent in regrets and resentments. I wept until I was hollow, processing the whole situation. But the most maddening part is that tomorrow I might just wake up, completely blank out on this epiphany, and drift right back into my comfortable suffering.
Although the book itself doesn’t entirely captivate me, certain passages pierce through to my very core—like the story of the rabbit. Don Juan told him to kill it because its time had come. Castaneda couldn’t bring himself to do it; he tried to wiggle out of the situation, but in the end, he killed it anyway. He was utterly devastated, feeling as though he were that very rabbit. That was a profoundly heavy piece of writing. Or the story about the hawk—when Don Juan told Castaneda that he was the bird’s destiny, its death. He chose not to shoot back then, and the hawk soared away.
What Don Juan says about death… I’ve frequently contemplated dying myself, but never as a trusted counselor. If I actually kept death in mind, it truly could vaporize all the trivial nonsense I stress over. You know, it crossed my mind: what the hell does it matter how I live, what kind of mediocre job I hold, whether I have a proper roof over my head, or whether I earn a fortune or mere pennies. It doesn’t matter if I’m alone or with someone. Life is a challenge—a battle. And every single day, that battle could easily be my last. Just like that rabbit.
Frankly, I harbor this foolish dream of finding someone like Don Juan and writing a book. But it is an absolute impossibility in this boring life of mine. I’m certainly not going to encounter a spiritual guide in some sterile office cubicle or a chaotic warehouse. To find that, I’d have to fly to Bali, Goa, or wherever the hell people go to find themselves. Or, let’s be entirely real: those books have already been written, and I wouldn’t have a single original thing to say anyway. I’d just be lazily rehashing what is already out there.
I look at my life and think it is an objectively brutal struggle. A never-ending battle. I have a mountain of health issues: my ovaries, my thyroid, messed-up hormones, and whatnot. I feel like an ancient, rusty barge abandoned in some forgotten port, barely holding together only because it is completely encrusted in bird droppings.
Sometimes I just want to beg God: please, cut me some slack. And I have absolutely zero energy left for pointless things. Every ounce of energy I possess is spent purely on survival. Take my resentments, for example. Don Juan says all of this is merely self-importance. And that is precisely where my energy leaks away, rushing out like air from a punctured tire. Since I am already running on absolute fumes, holding onto a grudge is just foolish and counterproductive. Regret over the past, resentment, chronic anxiety—it’s all a colossal waste of time. Because all we ever have is the here and now. Everything happens in the absolute present. A tooth might break tomorrow, or it might hold for another decade. It might flare up in ten years, or tomorrow. And yes, you must deal with it when it happens—take care of your body—but losing sleep over it beforehand is completely meaningless.
I comprehend all of this perfectly. Yet, for some infuriating reason, I still spiral into the dark. I desperately want to break free from this cage. From the eternal regrets. From the suffocating feeling that I have squandered my entire existence. From the guilt of not doing more, not achieving more. For not being good enough. Not successful enough. All this relentless regret and self-blame… I just want to shut down the noise. Once and for all.
