Sit With Yourself

From time to time, I ask myself a simple question: what am I proud of? Different answers come depending on the day. Sometimes it’s something related to work, sometimes a small achievement, sometimes a habit I managed to keep. But there is one answer that keeps returning, something very ordinary yet surprisingly rare. I am proud of the fact that I can sit with myself. And by sitting, I mean truly sitting, doing nothing. Not meditation, not breathing exercises, not scrolling through a phone, not even trying to solve anything. Just being there with myself.

Sometimes thoughts appear. Old memories, recent conversations, plans for the future, and questions about where life is going. The same kind of questions that appear at two in the morning when you stare at the ceiling. But the difference here is calmness. There is no rush to solve them, no anxiety attached to them. Just observing them quietly. What should I improve? What should I let go of? What do I actually want from life? Am I even walking in the direction I want to walk in? These questions don’t arrive like problems to fix, but like companions that sit with you for a while.

For a long time I lost this ability. Life started throwing multiple things at once, as it often does. Health, family, relationships, work, personal goals, hobbies, everything demanding attention at the same time. I tried to improve everything simultaneously, give time to everything simultaneously, and become better at everything simultaneously. It was exhausting. And slowly I realised something strange: I had stopped sitting with myself the way I used to. Because sitting quietly had started to feel uncomfortable. When I sat still, too many unresolved things appeared. Too many questions, too many memories, too many uncertainties. So I stayed busy instead.

At some point, I told my brother about this. He suggested something simple. He said, write everything down. Every problem you think you are fighting in life: health, family, relationships, friendships, career, hobbies, everything that comes to your mind. Then divide them into two categories: the problems you can actually fight and the problems you simply cannot control. And then focus only on the ones that are in your hands. He said something that stayed with me: no matter what stage of life you are in, you will always have problems. The only real choice you have is which battles you decide to fight. You cannot fight every battle, and you definitely cannot fight everyone else’s battles along with your own.

I followed that advice. I wrote everything down. The list was longer than I expected. Then I divided it again: what can I actually influence, and what can I not? And if I can influence it, what am I doing about it? Slowly, I started acting on the things that were actually in my control, without constantly thinking about the result. Just doing what needed to be done and trusting the process.

But even after that, something still felt missing. Time always felt insufficient. After a long workday from ten to eight, proper sleep, trying to give some time to writing and reading, everything else began to shrink. Health, rest, quiet time, even moments of simply existing. Even on weekends when I tried to sit quietly, guilt would appear. I should be reading. I should be writing. I should be improving something. Doing nothing began to feel like wasting time.

Until yesterday, I decided to stop fighting that urge for a while. I sat in the recliner in my room, turned off the lights, and let the room become quiet. The air conditioner was running, the window beside me letting in a little moonlight mixed with the streetlight outside. And I just sat there. Slowly, I went through everything in my mind. Thoughts of anger, gratitude, regret, and appreciation. I silently confronted people I disliked and silently thanked the ones who had made life easier. Eventually, the thoughts slowed down. I put on music, Hans Zimmer, the Interstellar soundtrack. The one I often listen to when my mind feels anxious. Something about it slows everything down, almost like breathing without trying to breathe. And I just sat there listening, half awake, half lost in the music, not trying to solve anything, not trying to optimise time, just existing quietly for a while.

And for that moment, life felt balanced again. Of course, the next morning came, and the rush returned. The same urge to utilise every minute, to improve everything, to do more. But at least I remembered something important. Sometimes the most necessary thing you can do is sit with yourself long enough to remember who you were before life became so noisy. - Vimarsh Shah

March, 2026.

A photo from that day, that I captured, a bit like a Korean movie I saw called 'Burning', a movie that changed my thoughts on women, a good watch, watch it, and watch the explanation video for hidden meanings.