Ivan the Inspiring

Naveen T B
Aug 23, 2017 · 4 min read

On the desperate search for and the incessant proliferation of Inspiration

A lot of thought had made Ivan’s head dizzy. He didn’t know beforehand that it asked so much and required such effort. No wonder the majority of the masses avoid thought, he thought. Maybe they use all that effort for something else. Something better. Probably. He wondered what that could be. To him, thought and ideas were at the pinnacle of human evolution. Without that, according to him, humans are reduced to mere wandering pieces of bone and muscle. But here are billions of them spending their precious little energies on something better! He was genuinely surprised. And all this thinking made him even more weary. The more he thought the more weary he felt. The more weary he felt the more dejected he became. This was a dangerous sign. After all who could live without hope and inspiration - the ultimate drivers of human motivation. He couldn’t be uninspired yet. There’s a lot more time for it. Probably a moment at the end. When he would meet his good old friend. But not now. Now is the time to be inspired. To be alive! So he went. Went on searching for the elixir of inspiration.

The first place he searched was history. Because he knew it more than he knew anything. More than he knew himself. He sifted through millions of pages of distilled thought penned down by the very people he admired. He spent hours, days and even months together searching for the precious inspiration. All the dark troughs and all the bright peaks. All the deserted corners of it. But he didn't find what he was looking for. Sure, there were a lot of people who fought against great odds to make their mark on history. But there was no sign of inspiration in any of them. Madness - yes. Struggle - yes. Desperation - yes. Bravery - yes. Fear - yes. Frustration - yes. Futility - yes. Inspiration - no! He was utterly disappointed. That the one place he was sure to find the root of his inspiration turned out to be a dud. So he moved on to other sources. Maybe inspiration is a modern concept. Maybe people in those days didn't really need it. Maybe they were less evolved compared to the current generation, he thought.

After deciding thus, he set out immediately to the search. And was he delighted! Everywhere he looked he saw inspiration. It was like what Mark Twain had said about Religion being the Opium of masses except that instead of Religion, it was Inspiration. People were running high on inspiration. They breathed it. They had it for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. They carried it everywhere they went. Now this is a generation full of hope, he thought. He could see people teaching other people about inspiration.

“25 ways to kick start your mornings feeling inspired”
“If you aren’t inspired, you aren’t living"
“Why aren’t you inspired yet?”
“Here’s some inspiration for you"
“What you seek is seeking you"
“The world is full of sunshine and rainbows if only you see it"
“Dejected in life? Here’s a readymade solution"

And so read the titles of books and magazines and articles and snippets and limericks. He was overwhelmed with the fact that this generation worshipped inspiration so much! He could certainly fill his barren soul to the brink with this copious amounts of inspiration. How could he not! After all it pervaded the entire being of the world. So he opened his soul, laid it bare and let the world perform the magic. And waited, and waited, and waited.

But deep down he still felt empty. Hollow. Dejected. Depressed. He couldn't understand why is it that when everyone is trying to help you to be inspired, he was still feeling as though the entire world weighs upon him, crushing him slowly to darkness and oblivion. All over the world, everyone is riding high on inspiration and he could not even feel a drop it. What is different in him that what worked for billions would not work for him? Maybe what they say about each one being unique is true. Maybe what works for one may not work for another. Probably inspiration was not for him, he thought. Probably it's not as important as it seemed. After all, he had made it in his life so far without being inspired much. Probably history was teaching him something subtly. Probably Inspiration really is the Opium of the masses - always making them chase and chase and wanting more and never being enough. Probably dejection is his way of life. Probably he was meant to carry on the burden forever without actually giving up of feeling the need to otherwise. Probably, just probably, he didn't need inspiration to be true to himself. He looked outside the window at the cold, dark sky and felt heavy in his heart. He smiled looking at the darkness, knowing he would do just about fine like this.

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