Who’s keeping score here? And more importantly—who’s watching the scorekeeper? Strange how I keep comparing myself to others, building endless hierarchies of better and worse. But when I look closer, this ranking game seems to run by itself.

Once in a blue moon, I catch myself feeling quite unique, different from everyone else. Then again, when did this story of being exceptional begin? Was there ever a time when I didn’t measure myself against others?

Hey, wait, I got a new complaint!

There’s this deep storage of old habits, like a basement full of stuff I’ve forgotten about, but it keeps influencing how I arrange the furniture in the house. Everything I experience seems to get filed away there, creating patterns I barely notice.

But what if I could see through this collecting habit? What if I could stop taking inventory of my specialness? These waking visions seem to come from somewhere else, yet they feel like my own mind’s creations.

I need perfection—some twisted selection.

The more I watch this collection of experiences, the more I notice how it shapes what I see next. I have been doing it forever already, so long that I forgot they were there. Every new moment is colored by all these old stories and rankings.

Can I find myself in the act of filing things away? Can I meet myself when adding another trophy or wound to my collection?

Sometimes, I think I’ve figured out who’s better than who. But then I notice that’s just another thing to store away, another way to feel either special or wounded. The whole game of comparing and storing feeds itself.

What happens if I stop playing? Not by force, but by seeing through the whole process?

Focus is formed by flaunts to the soul.

The cellar isn’t real; it’s just another story. The scoreboard isn’t there; it’s just another habit. Even the scorekeeper turns out to be on vacation. What’s left?

Maybe there’s no need to remove anything. Maybe seeing through it is enough. The storage system can’t run if I see it’s made up.

I think everyone gets caught in a similar game sometimes. Everyone might have their own basement full of comparisons and old scores. But everyone can also notice how it works. And in that noticing, something shifts.

You are always welcome.