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How do you hear your own thoughts when everyone has an opinion?

In My passion and happiness, Innocent asks a question that can disappear from a busy life: am I happy? He describes days filled by obligations and other people’s wants, with too little attention left for what gives his own life meaning. Slowing down lets that question be heard again.

Hearing your own thoughts begins with a pause in the responses you are taking in. You need a chance to notice what you want before explaining, defending or adjusting it for everyone else.

A Spark from Questions Asked

When the noise of external influences is shut out, the inner person's low and gentle voice becomes audible.

Perhaps you have been told you should go out more. One friend thinks you spend too many evenings at home. Another says you should use them to take on extra work. A relative worries that you are missing chances to meet someone. Each may mean well. By the time you consider the coming evening, staying home seems lazy, going out seems necessary and wanting something else feels difficult to justify.

Leave the question of what you can justify aside for a little while. You do not have to send a reply yet. Put the conversations out of reach and ask what you would like this evening to contain.

The first answer may still sound like one of the people advising you. “I should make better use of the time.” Better in what way? What do you miss doing? What has recently made an ordinary day feel worthwhile?

You remember how absorbed you used to become in drawing. You have not missed a grand achievement; you have missed sitting with something, looking closely and making marks until you begin to see it differently. An evening at home could contain that. It need not mean the kind of empty evening your friend was imagining.

The discovery does not settle every concern. You may also miss people. You may want company and some time to draw, without knowing how to make room for both. That is an answer of your own too. Quiet does not have to produce one clear wish before it has been useful.

It can help to keep the answer close to experience. “I feel more myself when I draw” says something you recognise. “I must be an artist and change everything” asks the discovery to settle much more than it has shown. You can give drawing a place in your evening before deciding what else it might become.

Then you can return to the conversation differently. Instead of arguing that your friends should stop caring, you might say, “I do want to see people. I also want some evenings for drawing again.” They can respond to the wishes you actually have, rather than continue discussing a life described entirely in their terms.

Advice may still bring something you missed. A friend might remind you that you have declined every invitation for months, and you may need to consider whether the evenings have felt as satisfying as you hoped. Your own voice deserves attention, not immunity from honest questions.

The balance is easier to find when you are present in the discussion. Other people can tell you what worries them, what they would enjoy and what they think might help. You can listen while keeping hold of the quieter question about what makes a day worth living to you.

AI-generated from Innocent Mwatsikesimbe's writing.

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