Schopenhauer, the art of letting it be

I found myself wholly emptied, the mental exhaustion where you sit in your parked car and wake up minutes later, unsure how long you’ve been asleep.

This evening was one of those moments when something cracked inside. 

After trying to do too much for too long, trying to please too many people, and having too many demands at home, I reached the point of mental exhaustion. I fell asleep in my car, sitting in the parking lot.

Later, after I had put the kids to bed, I turned to Schopenhauer and philosophy-inspired Buddhism and Hinduism.

As I write this, I’ve recovered and returned to my regular self, so I decided to share this reflection.

Arthur Schopenhauer, often called the philosopher of pessimism, was one of the most clear-eyed observers of human suffering and desire. He argued that what drives us isn’t logic or morality, but will. A  striving force, like gravity, that constantly pushes us to survive, reproduce, compete, accumulate, and desire more. Always more.

But here’s the trick: this striving never satisfies us.

As soon as one desire is fulfilled, a new one takes its place.
We are haunted not by what we lack but by the endless cycle of wanting.

That’s why, tonight, Schopenhauer and his Buddhist and Hindu influences feel so fitting.

Buddhism speaks of dukkha, suffering born from craving and attachment.
Hinduism identifies maya, the illusion of the self and the world.

Schopenhauer saw the same thread running through our lives in the West.
The more we chase pleasure, achievement, or meaning through desire, the more we suffer.

The escape, he claimed, was not conquest or self-improvement. It was quiet renunciation. Letting go. Lowering your expectations of life, not out of defeat, but out of wisdom. Not as cynicism, but as compassion toward your exhausted self.

What makes Schopenhauer so fitting for tonight is telling myself to write this, sleep, and be at peace.

I didn’t need motivation. I didn’t need another productivity framework or inspirational quote.

I needed space. I needed silence. I needed to write.

I needed a reminder that the peace we seek often arrives when we stop seeking.

And now, as I write this, I feel something returning. Not the same blind will, but a calmer self.

The storm has passed. Schopenhauer might call that grace. Not the reward of striving, but the release of it.

Respectfully,

Uki D. Lucas
https://ukidlucas.com/