Hyperfixation Burnout
In lieu of a degree in Philosophy, I'll just drive myself mad. (This is a venting post)
The act of delving deeply into research on topics like Hermeticism, Norse Mythology, and Hellenic Polytheism over the past few months has been both fascinating and, at times, maddening. These dense subjects offer a world of information that demand intense focus and relentless curiosity. As I juggle seven books simultaneously while letting audiobooks further my learning during work hours, I’ve become something of a mad alchemist, mixing knowledge and obsession in equal measure. The thrill of discovery is one thing, but there’s a fine line between inspiration and exhaustion—a line I’ve stumbled across more than once in this pursuit of truth.
In my research frenzy, I’ve begun to unravel not just the mysteries of the cosmos but also the threads of my own sanity. Each new concept or obscure reference becomes a labyrinth, and before I know it, I’m lost among the trees, unable to find my way back to the forest. The intricacies of Hermetic principles, the complex correspondences of Norse gods, and the paradoxes of Hellenic myths have become both my sustenance and my torment. It’s as though I’m chasing a muse who keeps darting just out of reach, and the harder I run, the more the exhaustion seeps into my bones. This burnout feels like a cruel joke—a reminder that even the most profound quests for knowledge can leave you hollow if you’re not careful with the pacing.
In this moment of reflection, I’ve begun to see the beauty of imperfection—in these ancient traditions and in myself. The tortured artist in me wants to sprint through every text, wring every drop of meaning from the pages, but I’m learning the value of patience. Knowledge isn’t something you devour; it’s something you savor. I’ve started to slow down, to let ideas simmer and take root before moving on. It’s a quieter, more deliberate process, and though it lacks the frenzied rush of my desired approach, I need to slow down or I will burn out completely. There’s a strange comfort in accepting that I’ll never know everything—that some mysteries are meant to remain just that, and that there will always be people who will know way more than I do.
On a more positive note, this journey has taught me that the pursuit of knowledge is as much about the questions as it is about giving the answers the opportunity to evolve over time. It’s about the moments of clarity that rise out of the chaos, the flashes of understanding that remind you why you began in the first place. These ancient traditions aren’t just puzzles to be solved; they are the very soul of humanity. By embracing the messiness of this process—the false starts, the burnout, the tangled threads—I’ve found a strange, bittersweet joy. I might not be able to conquer the unknown but I'm surely learning how to dance with it.