I've never been accused of being a navel gazer before. Regular readers -- those who were here before the mass desertion following the start of my hiatus -- know I was always looking onward and upward. I feel I've always been a "next mountain" kind of guy, not planting flags under my feet during present conquests, but always looking ahead to the next mountain, where maybe I would plant the flag.
But with the hiatus and with being left essentially alone, in reviewing my thoughts from the last couple of weeks especially, I can see that I've degenerated into navel gazing. There's something very inward happening, even downward; I don't know if I'd call it a downward spiral quite yet, but it's close. My eyes are strictly averted downward toward the center of my stomach region and perceiving in their gaze, staring back, my own navel. Which, you know, if you put your finger in there and twist it a couple of times, quickly becomes painful. I wonder if you can get cancer of the bellybutton.
Actually, the phrase "navel gazing" isn't meant to be taken literally. It's a term that refers to one's self-preoccupation, whether physically or emotionally. It's another way of describing a person's withdrawal from outward circumstances, for whatever reason, and becoming more inwardly directed.
Checking around on the internet I found this interesting quote: "Actually, the phrase 'navel gazing' isn't meant to be taken literally. It's a term that refers to one's self-preoccupation, whether physically or emotionally. It's another way of describing a person's withdrawal from outward circumstances, for whatever reason, and becoming more inwardly directed."
Now, finding myself a navel gazer indeed, everything begins and ends with me and what I'm preoccupied with at the moment. I'm feeding on myself. I've become a parasite whose host is myself, and once I've consumed myself, I don't know what will happen. With my last braincells I'll probably have to find a way to clone myself just so I won't miss too many meals. But how can that be sustainable in the long run?
Well ... that will be the "next mountain," something to worry about and conquer when I see it.
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