My problem, well, one of my problems, is that there’s too much. Not of me, although that, too. No, there’s too much that I’m interested in. Too much that I’m not good enough at to make a living, but interested in. Interested enough, to know a bit more than the average man on the street, but not interested enough to make it my life’s work, or even a passionate hobby. Like this blog, and its evidence of sporadic writing, despite intending to write at least weekly. There’s too much to write about, so I write (almost) nothing.
I used to DJ. I was pretty good. But I love so much music, so much, that I was trying to keep up-to-date with not only the stuff I was playing (pop and retro), but everything else that I liked; from acid jazz to deep house, from psychedelic rock to death metal. Too much. So now I don’t DJ.
When something becomes too much it becomes a source of procrastination. Either I will immerse myself in it, and lose any ability to see clearly that the immersion is counter to my ability to get on with other things, or I will avoid the very thing I love because there’s too much of it and not enough of me, and that asymmetry is aversive.
It’s all too much, and I am not enough, yet I am too much, and it is not enough, and the asymmetry is aversive.