How much of what you do is for yourself, and how much is for others?
Social pressure is a powerful force.
I for one, am susceptible, weak to the suggestion to the crowd. And although I have dispensed great effort in building up my mental insulation, my defenses are porous.
Maybe this entire enterprise is the errand of a fool, deluding itself about the need to belong deeply engrained into our physique by millions of years of evolution. Regardless, I am such a fool.
But, I am such a fool not blinded by my weakness: I know how perniciously desires that are not my own creep in from the outside. I feel the pull in joining the flock of enthusiastic cheers marching towards what they see as the next frontier.
How beaming and passionate they appear. How delightful their company must be. How brightly they shine for all to see. How much I would like to join them.
Yet, before I could blend myself among their ranks, I crossed paths with a familiar presence: my own porous mental barrier. It reminded me of my resolution, and urged me to firmly grasp my resolve. But as a shadow chased away by the brightness, my resolve was nowhere to be found.
As I awoke from my daze I was unable to parse my own desire from the traction of the crowd. How much this desire is my own, and how much is the sweet songs of sirens?
Unable to parse this mystery, I settled that I would not walk alongside the crowd so long as it is cheering, and only join when it starts to cry.