The constant feeling of being inadequate is the only constant in life.
The flurry of social media doesn’t distract it. The busy corporate life doesn’t drown it. The million dead is nothing but a longish blur. The shopping, the dining, the friends and their banter – all but faint brush strokes on the background that has inadequate written all over it, in small fonts, like a gift wrapping paper. Only there will be no gift, and no wrapping.
The feeling of inadequacy. Meaning is as ambiguous as the word itself. What is adequate. If we knew what is, won’t we make all effort to have it? Not knowing what adequate is, isn’t that the reason behind being inadequate?
It’s easy to fix a shirt that pinches you in your armpits. It’s impossible to tell the tailor that the shirt is stifling. No tailor can fix what you can’t put in words. The shirt is inadequate. So, is the fit. And, so is your life inside it.
It’s all a constant, nagging feeling of being too tight in one place and too loose in another. And, it’s the shirt you have to wear all through the life. At least, this one.
