Future Me, Are You Listening?

Why do I sometimes feel like I'm only an observer of my own life?

There are moments when I feel as if I'm watching my life unfold from a distance, like a spectator at a play, disconnected from the actions on stage. I drift through days, my mind swirling with thoughts and feelings, while my body moves on autopilot. It's a peculiar sensation, this sense of detachment, and one that leaves me questioning my role in the very life I inhabit.

Why does this happen? What is it about certain experiences that transforms me from an engaged participant into a passive observer? As I reflect on this, I realize it often occurs during times of stress or overwhelming emotion. When faced with challenges—be it a difficult situation at school, a conflict with a friend, or a personal struggle—I sometimes retreat inward. Instead of confronting my feelings head-on, I step back, analyzing the scene before me as if it were a film playing out on a screen.

This distancing can be both a protective mechanism and a source of frustration. On one hand, it allows me to observe my thoughts and emotions without becoming engulfed by them. In moments of intense anxiety or sadness, it can feel safer to watch rather than engage, to analyze rather than experience. I've often caught myself thinking, "If I can just understand this feeling, I can manage it." But the irony is that in trying to gain control, I often lose touch with the rawness of my emotions—the joy, the pain, the beauty of simply being present.

This is often referred to as dissociation—a way of coping with overwhelming situations by detaching from one's thoughts or feelings. It's a common response to trauma or stress, where the mind seeks to protect itself from pain. But it also raises deeper questions about my identity and my connection to the world around me. When I become an observer, I wonder: Am I truly living, or merely existing? Am I fully experiencing the richness of my life, or am I watching it pass by, like scenes from a movie that I can't fully engage with?

This feeling of being an observer can also emerge in moments of happiness or contentment, surprisingly. I've experienced days filled with laughter and connection, only to find myself stepping back and thinking, "Is this real? Am I really part of this?" It's as if I'm both present and absent at the same time, enjoying the moment but also questioning my right to be there. In these instances, I grapple with feelings of impostor syndrome, wondering if I deserve to bask in the warmth of joy or if I'm merely pretending to belong.

As I dive deeper into this reflection, I realize that my tendency to observe rather than participate often stems from fear—fear of vulnerability, fear of failure, fear of judgment. Engaging fully with life requires a level of openness and authenticity that can be intimidating. It means exposing my true self, with all its imperfections and insecurities, to the world. It's a risk, one that can feel overwhelming, especially in a society that often prioritizes perfection and success.

But I also understand that this detachment can keep me from forming genuine connections with others. When I stand on the sidelines, I miss out on the beauty of shared experiences—the laughter, the tears, the deep conversations that enrich our lives. Life is meant to be lived, not observed, and yet, I find myself caught in this cycle of distancing, as if I'm afraid to fully immerse myself in the unfolding story of my existence.

To counter this, I've begun to seek ways to bridge the gap between observer and participant. Mindfulness practices, for instance, have helped me ground myself in the present moment. By focusing on my breath or the sensations in my body, I can reconnect with my feelings and experiences. I remind myself that it's okay to feel uncomfortable, to embrace vulnerability, and to engage wholeheartedly in life, even when it feels daunting.

I want to remind my past self that it's okay to step into the spotlight, to claim my role in this play of life. I want her to know that being an active participant means embracing the full spectrum of emotions—the joy and the pain, the triumphs and the failures. It means allowing myself to be seen, to be heard, and to share my story without the fear of judgment.

Life is a dynamic, ever-evolving journey, and while it's natural to sometimes feel like an observer, it's essential to reclaim my agency and take part in the experiences that shape me. I have the power to write my narrative, to engage with the world, and to find meaning in both the ordinary and extraordinary moments. The stage is set, and it's time to step forward, to dance in the light, and to embrace the beautiful chaos of living fully.