Darya (LII) - A Personal Philosophy of Action

What situations in life cause you the most frustration, to the point of feeling completely hopeless?

I probably can’t think of a single example where frustration leads me to a feeling of hopelessness. For me, these two concepts are completely unrelated. Hopelessness is when you can’t change anything in a given situation, even a forced or external one. It seems obvious that you can either accept it and live with it, or change it—even in the most unpleasant circumstances.

To me, the word "hopelessness" is akin to "stagnation" or "standstill." That is probably what triggers a sense of hopelessness for me.

Can you reach a breaking point in such a situation and decide to make a change? For example, if you find yourself in a country with living conditions that don't suit you, you can change something—you can move. If you don't, it’s a compromise, which means you definitely haven't reached a state of true hopelessness yet.

So, it’s a certain reluctance to change, a desire to preserve things as they are, to freeze, or to roll backward—when I sense that kind of atmosphere, that is a state of hopelessness for me. That is the closest definition. Other than that, I don't really know what that concept means. There is always an option to decide things differently for yourself—if not for everyone around you, then at least for yourself. There is always a choice that aligns with your heart.

Now, as for irritation and frustration, that’s much simpler. As it turns out, a lot of things irritate me.

It irritates me when people interfere in my life without asking. In fact, any decision made on my behalf triggers a range of unpleasant feelings—it could be irritation, anger, or an unexpected aggressive reaction. Even when people handle everyday, mundane matters for me... like telling me where to go, or gifting me vacation tickets. To me, that is already an intrusion into my life, and it causes irritation.

Perhaps, another thing that irritates me is when I see that a person is theoretically capable of doing a task or solving a problem, but for some unknown reason—which I call laziness—they just don't want to. I draw a clear line here: when someone genuinely needs my help, I gladly pitch in, the project moves forward, the person is happy, and as a result, I achieve my goals too. But other times, I look at someone and clearly see that they just don't want to try. For whatever reason, they don't want to go, put in the effort, figure it out, dig deep, and get it done. This irritates me; I feel a wave of indignation boiling up inside. I will never help if I feel that someone is intentionally refusing to turn on their brain and figure things out. This kind of irritability happens both in everyday life and at work.

What else irritates me? I don't even know... Generally, any external, unplanned restrictions. For instance, when I didn't put any effort into holding myself back, but suddenly—bam!—a window of opportunity slams shut, and that's it. You can no longer study at a certain university, work at a certain company, or buy certain goods simply because circumstances have changed. Will this irritate me for long? No. In that moment, I feel a prick of injustice, but I can't get seriously annoyed by it for long.

Well, other than mental and emotional laziness, I don't think I get irritated by people at all. Ultimately, even if someone irritates or unnerves me, I can just choose not to interact with them, or at least limit our communication. So for me, it's quite rare for people to irritate me to the point of "teeth-grinding." I usually just walk away from uncomfortable interactions, and that's that.

What else irritates me in life? I don't even know.

But I keep thinking about hopelessness: what is hopelessness? I suppose it's when you don't see a way out. Yes, that's hopelessness. I think it's an emotional state. If you let go of emotions for a moment and look at what can be done, you will always find something. It's just that the available options might turn out to be equally unpleasant (meaning they will have a plus side as a way out, but a minus side in terms of consequences). Even so, to me, that is still not hopelessness.

What seems common sense to you, but you find you have to explain to others?

From everyday life situations, the only thing that comes to mind is that some people (and it doesn't mean they are bad, it's just the way they are) don't think about the consequences of their actions. Sometimes they don't even think about long-term consequences; they simply don't reason even a single step ahead before doing something.

This always surprises me because it seems so obvious. If you do A, you get result B. If you don't do A, you get result C. For me, this calculation happens automatically. I find it very hard to understand how someone can take steps without thinking: "What comes next? What consequences—positive or negative—will follow?"

One way or another, this is just processed automatically in the background for me at all times. It doesn't mean I always calculate it correctly, but the process itself is always running.

When people act without thinking, it boggles my mind. Some do it with absolutely no malice, and it was a revelation to me that you actually have to talk about these things out loud. To me, it’s obvious: "If you do this, you realize that's what's going to happen, right?" And people tell me, "No, I don't." Like, why? So, there's that.

What else is obvious to me but not to others? I don't even know... Perhaps it's obvious to me that every single person is special. I’ve always thought of myself as unique, but I don't just think that about myself—I think that about everyone. When someone says, "I'm just like everyone else" or "There's nothing special about me," for years I thought it was just a form of coyness, like they were fishing for compliments. I felt that internally, a person cannot truly feel that way about themselves. On the inside, a person feels that they are unique... they are the only one on the planet, which is a biological fact!

Because of this, it always felt put-on to me, as if a person couldn't genuinely feel ordinary. Sometimes my fingers practically itch to step in and tell them that they are unusual, that they cannot be ordinary. I often notice unique traits that the person themselves completely overlooks, while to me, it seems like a fantastic quality.

So, I suppose that's it. Nothing else really comes to mind. Those are probably the two main points I can list.

What is home to me, and how do I imagine it?

For me, home is definitely not a point on a map, nor is it a specific apartment or building. Home is a completely abstract concept. It is a place where I feel calm and good, where I am relaxed, and where I am accepted exactly as I am, so I don't have to carefully choose my words just to say something.

In other words, it’s more of a philosophical concept. I determine whether I am "at home" or not based on my internal state: whether I am comfortable, relaxed, and feeling free. I guess that's it.

And this could turn out to be any place—here at home, abroad, in my hometown, or in a strange city. Sometimes, finding myself in a certain place, in a certain situation, or during a brief moment in time, I can feel that I am home. I define being home by this sense of lightness and relaxation.

In principle, it’s the same with family. My family and my loved ones are those with whom communication is easy. If I feel tension, it just doesn't fit my stereotype of what home and family should be.

The place where I grew up doesn't trigger any nostalgic feelings in and of itself either. I definitely don't have the feeling that "home is where I was born."

I am at home wherever I feel good. These "homes" of mine can change easily, meaning they can move along with me—probably like pieces of these feelings, communication, and these people. So, home for me is a completely fluid concept, and it is likely not directly tied to pieces of real estate. And it is definitely not tied to a specific city of residence.

What kind of help and care do you expect from others, and what are you ready to offer yourself?

To begin with, I rarely have an acute need for actual help. It’s not particularly difficult for me to handle my own tasks independently. But if there are times when help would be nice, it comes down to just two things—completely different in nature:

The first is when I just need to process and think things through. I really appreciate having someone there—a set of "free ears"—who doesn't force their opinion on me but simply allows me to talk out loud, share my options, thoughts, and chains of reasoning. Sometimes they offer an opinion, and I re-evaluate the information out loud in their presence. For me, this is an opportunity to think actively with them there. Often, in these moments, I arrive at a complete, higher-quality solution, which is incredibly valuable to me.

When I approach someone with this request, it’s important to understand that I’m not directly asking for advice. I don’t need advice as such; I specifically need to reason out loud and arrive at a more balanced decision through dialogue. I am thinking out loud. I’m not great at hearing advice or processing it correctly. At that moment, I just need to calibrate my own opinion through a conversation with another person. It’s valuable when they don't argue or try to convince me, but simply listen and chat.

The second kind of help is purely practical or technical, but there is an important nuance here. If I’m already asking for this kind of help, to put it bluntly, I need the person to go away and return only when the task is done.

I treat delegating minor tasks at work the exact same way: I need the person to take it and figure out on their own how they will get it done. They might not do it perfectly, but if I’ve handed it off, I will accept the result with gratitude and won't nitpick. The crucial part for me is that I shouldn't have to spoon-feed them or explain exactly how to do it.

When people respond to a request for help or a delegated work task by asking a million questions ("Like this or like that?", "White or red?", "Fleece-lined or not?"), I feel like I'm wasting my time. In that same amount of time, I could just do it myself. What's the point of delegating then? At one point, I even thought this was just a polite excuse—a way to reject my request.

I prefer it when people tell me straight up: "I can't." I have no problem turning down requests myself, and I take other people's refusals very easily. If someone asks me for help at a bad time, or when I can't rearrange my schedule, I will calmly say no.

That said, I readily agree to help if the request is reasonable and made in a non-demanding way. And I have to see that I can truly help with actual deeds. In that case, I’m happy to do it. But it has to be an open-ended question. Not along the lines of: "Drop everything, come over tomorrow and do X, Y, and Z," but rather: "I need to get this done, when are you available?" More often than not, if it’s my inner circle, I’ll give in, adapt, shift my plans, and help out.

With strangers, I’ll simply refuse—I won't do something that wasn’t part of my plans. But for my loved ones, I will adjust my schedule and resources and try to help. That's just how it is. But I need to be given room to maneuver; it shouldn't be urgent or categorical. I need the opportunity to align my own interests with providing that help. When that happens, it’s a total win-win: I’ve helped someone else (which feels good) and didn't compromise my own interests (which also feels good).

On managing time

I always have a plan. But for me, it’s essential that it remains flexible enough. I generally enjoy planning; I like imagining and building chains of events, thinking about how things will play out.

When it comes to a strategic year-long plan, it’s always a certain chain of reasoning, a sequence of actions. It’s not so much a timeline broken down into strict blocks, but a logical sequence: what makes sense to do first, and what should follow, in order to reach a specific goal.

Naturally, I have checkpoints for every day, week, and month. This is especially true for work tasks—I always have a checklist of what absolutely must be done. However, I need to feel comfortable swapping these items around flexibly, depending on the situation.

Rigid planning, on the other hand, makes me highly uncomfortable. I once tried to schedule everything down to the minute and hour. I physically felt like I was in shackles, in chains—strict planning just doesn't work for me. It’s much more convenient when there’s room to shift the puzzle pieces around a bit. But the overall vision of what needs to follow what is always there.

If something happens during the day and everyday circumstances change, my brain automatically recalculates: "Okay, so we won't make it in time for this here. How do we reschedule it? If we push this task today, it means we won't make it for that other thing in three days..." It all recalibrates automatically—where to allocate more time, where less, where to have a backup plan. I shift things around easily.

I also take other people's interruptions in stride. I can agree to an unplanned meeting if it interests me and brings me pleasure, or if it promises engaging conversation. A whirlwind of thoughts instantly crosses my mind on how to adjust the rest of my plans so that key tasks don't suffer.

If traffic jams, transit issues, or bad weather happen—well, we can't control those events at all. What’s the point of getting stressed over them? I don't stress; I just adjust my plans based on the situation.

There should always be a way to move things a little. Sometimes you’re just completely not in the mood to do something, so you need to swap tasks around. There are always tasks that match your current mood—those should be done now, and the rest left for later.

A plan exists always, but it is quite flexible: for the day, the week, and the year. It's exactly the same approach for everything, just on a different scale.

What would you advise someone who doesn't know how to choose a profession?

I’m generally not great with advice—I absolutely dislike giving it, especially on major life decisions. Even if I'm asked directly about something as pivotal as choosing a career path. After all, the person will have to do the most important work: understand who they really are, what their actual talents, interests, and desires are. Sometimes the answer to this question upsets people; some find it unpleasant to dig into it.

For me, this is a natural process. I’ve always been well aware of my desires and numerous interests. In fact, I had the opposite problem: I had too many interests, and I was good at many things, so the challenge was always making a final choice.

But as I’ve grown older, I’ve realized that the world has changed. Why approach choosing a profession so seriously, as if it’s once and for all? Today you have one profession, tomorrow another—what’s the big deal? To figure it out, you have to listen to yourself. Every person has an interest that calls to them. Some people have disciplined themselves so strictly that they can no longer hear it, but that interest will still break through eventually.

If action is needed right this second (for example, applying to a university) and you are in total disarray, not knowing who you are or what interests you—then you need to start from what you are genuinely good at. These core abilities can later be carried through any profession.

I can show this through my own example. I am good at gathering, analyzing, processing, and systemizing information. This ability allowed me to get great results in science. Later, it came in handy in architecture and design. Today, it helps me in illustration, graphics, book design, and teaching. I am simply exploiting the exact same core ability in different fields. There is really no point in choosing a field of activity for the long haul—it will change over the course of your life anyway, so there’s no need to stress yourself out over it.

Sometimes I can see from the outside what a person’s real, global talent is. But even then, I would be wary of voicing my opinion. I believe the feeling of "who I am and what I can do" must come from within—that way, you will never go wrong and you won't experience burnout or disappointment. When someone feels disillusioned by their profession, it almost always means that someone else's external opinion was forced upon them beforehand. Your talent will break through regardless.

If you are completely stuck and have to pick at least some university, but your understanding is at zero, I would choose the most abstract, broad-profile institution possible—whether scientific, technical, or perhaps humanitarian. The main thing is that, first of all, they teach you how to learn (a lifelong skill), and second, that they have a reasonably hands-off attitude toward students. Students should be forced to solve problems on their own.

I see many bad consequences when a university spoon-feeds everything to a person, puts it in their mouth, and helps them swallow it. They graduate with an absolute lack of understanding of how to formulate, plan, and solve a task by themselves.

If a university of any profile teaches you to look at information critically, to gather and synthesize it, to set goals independently, and to map out a solution path—that is enough. After that, you can transition into any field. You will find something you enjoy and will be able to develop productively in it, even from scratch, because you will know how to study and solve any problem.

But again, I don't like giving advice. There are moments—and choosing your life's direction is one of them—when a person just needs to tune out everyone else's opinions, shake off the advisors, and listen to their inner voice. As esoteric as it may sound, it’s never completely silent—some people have just drowned it out too much. I suppose that's how it is.

Source: O. Mikhevnina