The Sri Mahamariamman Temple, the oldest Hindu temple in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia. Pic courtesy of IQRemix.

You are who you worship

I always had a group of people I looked up to. They embodied the values I deemed successful. I wanted their life. I read their books, blogposts, and even newsletters. I watch how they conducted their lives, even how they ate.

Then I got depressed and pissed off. ‘What am I missing?’ I asked myself after failed attempts at hacks these people promised would alter my life.

I heard someone — he probably paraphrased it from someone else — tell me I am who I worship.

It’s true. And it doesn’t need to be a specific deity. After all I can deify just about anything or anyone.

On my altar, an adored lineup. Historical figures, authors, friends, colleagues, bosses. My idols. I tried emulating their lives, consciously and unconsciously.

Lost in this process — little did I know — was my identity. I faced a crisis, even to the point of developing habits I never knew I was capable of.

My friends and family thought I was mad. I oscillated between emotional and behavioral extremes.

I hate looking at my life with hindsight. It’s painful. But this is one of those moments.

I have to be happy with what I am dealt with. These people may offer me some motivation or life tip, but I’ll never know their true story or what they are like in private.

I’ll never be like them because my adventure is unique and personal. My life is mine.

That as my dreams are mine, so are my achievements. I define them. But I can’t let them brew for too long and drown them with these false gods I have created.

Reality hurts. I have to stop worshiping these people.

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