There is a kind of boredom with a shrinking space, where the boundaries seem to be half-heartedly etched out to arrest the inhabitant and only allow trespassers. I believe we only tend to ignore life and the identity that we are born with because we necessarily engage with the correspondences of confusion.
The idea of dissatisfaction comes from heaps of expectations that are seeded in the mind quite rigorously. While educating the mind should have been a liberating experience, the constrained ideas deliberately erased some of the important ridges of the brain. The consciousness that was supposed to run smooth face many obstructions and deviations.
A half-hearted attempt at life, the vicious rebellion against that identity, a simple and sentient soul is pushed away further behind a wall of worldly learnings. We do not enjoy much; not necessarily a morbid thought, but it compels one to think that all that we travel for is not only about the experiences but also for an escape. While there is freedom to interact, learn, and listen to stories around the world, a soul wandering from here and there, who was stranded in a shrinking space could be experiencing a diminished experience from a journey.
Instead of gliding across the changing landscapes and cultures, there are many challenges that arise due to the restrained nature of life. There are boundaries everywhere, not all stories are being narrated as innocently as they should have been, and not all meetings lead to life-changing moments.
I feel, accepting that reality about existing within a shrinking space and trying to strengthen the roots in a barren land leads to a sense of instability and weakness to run through the veins of a being. The entire constitution feels vulnerable from the expectations of a continuously changing inclement reality.
There is impatience, resentment, and regret of not being able to explore the entire consciousness. If I am not allowed to consciously understand my intrinsic individuality and use that consciousness and knowledge to travel with true freedom, life feels like that shrinking space, a barren existence, only to perform some predetermined duties, as deemed appropriate by the prevalent culture of a society.
What would you speak of when you meet your reflection? Not on a mirror, but in a dream, or on a bigger canvas of nature. I feel we miss the chance of meeting our reflection (of our soul, the character, and real identity) as there is too much unclearness, deliberately sullied by the unworthy varnishes of prejudices.