Why I Stayed

I keep thinking about the word human being. And the joke, “human doing.”

The reality is that we have all turned to human doings rather than beings. 

The question is, what if…we flip the script?

What happens when you stop doing? When silence takes over and you just…are?

I can tell you one way to find out: put a human in a house, alone, on an island, thousands of kilometers away from home.

Now, just for a while, imagine that human is you. 

No stable partner, no besties around, finances at bare minimum, no one to cook dinner, no one to repair the leak, full responsibility - on you.

Yes, you can call your mom; and yet, you remain there alone – just you and life.

What do you do?

When you clock off work, and you shut your PC down, what do you do?

Some days, you will try to do absolutely everything. Other days you will feel like doing nothing at all. 

Until one day, you will realize that there’s a part of you that goes beyond the “doing”. 

A part of you that simply is.

That is why I stayed. 

I needed to see, to know, to figure out. Who was I when I was simply…being?

It was lonely. It was scary. And hell, was it unsettling. 

But I stayed. 

Because I also felt something coming up. It was me coming up to the surface – the me I was, when no one was watching, when no one was expecting, when no one even cared.

I got curious.

I had to meet her. I had to know her. She was ready.

So I decided to give her a chance.

That’s when I first began feeling myself. Slowly, gradually, shaky. 

The fear was immense – fear of not being enough, fear of not knowing enough, fear of messing everything up. The fear was real.

At some moments, fear turned to panic. Everything seemed to be going down: relationships were ended, trust was broken, opportunities - declined. 

Bank account: empty. Loneliness: at its peak. 

At other times, fear turned into numbness - silent yet powerful pressure.

Nothing meant nothing anymore. To the point of failing to see value – even in things I knew I loved and was grateful for…logically.

And still, I stayed.

I was trying to learn to be.

Simply be.

As simple as that.

Simple, yet terrifying. 

At that point, however, there was no way back for me. I needed to stay.

Stay in the moment. Stay in the process. Stay on the island.

To stay in the doubt - without a doubt. 

To stay in the fear - without fear. 

Maybe staying is enough. 

Instead of running, chasing, escaping, I just stayed.

At some point, I realized — it was never about the island.

I didn’t stay for the island. I stayed for me.