One of the most irrational and self-destructive traits of human behaviour is our constant interaction between waste and excess, getting rid of the old and gaining the new. Our greatest hobby has become to overproduce and accumulate as much as possible until we realise that there was never a demand, let alone space for it. Consequently, this results in us being forced to waste it all again only so we can repeat the cycle we’ve imprisoned ourselves in. We justify this process in the name of future rewards, or even just for the sake of its potential, while willingly ignoring that the damage it might cause outweighs the good it brings. Everything seems temporary, born into the world with a predetermined expiry date and the belief that it loses its value when it exceeds it. Are we afraid of what might happen if we let it age on its own? Let it expire at its own speed? Is the certainty of knowing the end worth sacrificing the yet uncertain good that could come from keeping it for a while? Food suddenly becomes poisonous, games become boring, some things break and others just don’t reflect our taste anymore. Some is stored away but most is quickly replaced, and it seems like this type of attitude has migrated from materialism to autonomous beings around us. The existence of things that truly matter to us and bring us more fulfillment than any subsidised product could ever give us: friendships and love.
So many of us have grown into romantic potentialists, daydreaming about what could be and the potential that lies in every encounter to experience something greater than ever before. It’s hard to blame anyone for wishing to aim higher each time, as life is only so long and the inevitable end awaits us all. We’re too ambitious to be satisfied with what’s just good, because how can you blindly accept good when great and fantastic could be waiting for you just around the corner? The potential of what could be keeps us moving forward, but how often do we consider the possibility of us moving away from good to bad during our attempt to improve? Or in some frustrating, hopeless moments, from bad towards the worse? The flaw in our thinking about potential is that because it is shaped by our imagination, it always looks perfect. We’ve already experienced some good and some bad, so what we do is to gather all the good to create an ideal that trumps everything in the future. It certainly hasn’t happened yet, so it must just be a matter of time, right?
We are more likely to give up and look for the potential perfect, instead of seeing the value in what’s already good enough. When new relationships first start out, our mind plays tricks on us and imagines all the future experiences with a partner that we might have, experiences that are based on the great ones we’ve already had - but better. The great thing about potential is that it’s limitless, so it’s natural to let our stream of consciousness present us with the most cinematic film in which we star in as the main role. Even if things take a turn, no one will criticise the main act, because after all, the whole plot is about you and there’s therefore no one else the audience feels closer to or cares about more. All the compassion is directed at one person, regardless of the fact that the other roles have a story just as complex as your own. As soon as things get a little tough, or your partner doesn’t follow the script you have written for both of them, you think it’s time to let go instead of working on finding a compromise to makes the script work for both parties. It’s easier to give up when we’re replaceable in so many different ways. Why should anyone hold on to the old and difficult, when there’s an excess of potential that we have access to at all times?
It’s not about accepting the first best thing that crosses our path, and then sticking with it unconditionally. It’s rather about realising the potential of sustainability in the many things that are already good enough. If we always strived for perfect, we’d end up in a constant loop of disappointment and frustration, believing that we’re doomed to be unhappy. First of all, it can never be someone else’s responsibility other than your own to make you happy, as relying on someone else is not sustainable. We need to be self-sufficient enough to be OK with the idea that we might not always be able to make ourselves happy, but at least we might do most of the time, so we’ll be alright.The same goes for our partners. How can you expect someone to be the potential perfect, when you know it’s impossible to achieve yourself? When things get tough, our next steps need to come from a place of compassion, conscious nurture, the realisation that we’re just as flawed as our partners, and the will to stay anyway. Because even if we might not be perfect, there are plenty of good enoughs to be found in what we have, and that’s worth sustaining instead of throwing away only to start all over again with someone else.
I like to believe that I love conservatively in an age full of waste where the neglect to nurture our foundations has turned our relationships into romantic wasteland. We’re standing on barren land where things stopped growing after we spoiled it with our ambitions, greed and excess, perhaps even the idea that we are too good for this. Conservative relationships most certainly needed a reform that allowed both partners to become equal and free, but there is a lesson to be learned in the idea to see the value in what’s already good enough and wanting to fix what is broken. This approach is reflected in Zen Buddhism, where its Buddhists believe that the ceramics they’ve made that now have cracks or damages shouldn’t simply be thrown away, but rather continue to attract their attention and respect, and therefore be looked after carefully. It’s a practice that symbolises their acceptance of all the accidents, errors and flaws that inevitably occur throughout time. These scars shouldn’t be hidden, but rather rendered beautiful and a sign of strength as a result of enduring hardships. At the end of the day, or at least at some point in time, we will all have cracks and marks brought back as souvenirs from memories that we might even want to forget. But they were after all what made us who we are, and are therefore somewhat valuable; and at the end of the day, it’s up to us to decide whether we’d rather end up with a hundred broken vases, or glue back the one we’ve already been valuing for so long.
