If you knew without a doubt that Time itself was without substance, that no amount of technology or mysticism could make you travel back to the world as it once was, then you could finally begin living your life. Everywhere you look you see the trace remains of the past encroaching upon your waking morning reality. Bad choices made here and there now add up to a mediocre job. You can’t embark upon anything new without somehow tying it back to a sense of regret for missed opportunities in which you might have done this or that thing long ago, if it were not for the fear and obsessions and mental blocks inside of you. Your user accounts on social media sites are simply collections of ghosts who don’t reach your waking, palpable life, except for where they touch those yet unresolved fears and obsessions.
You’d rather face the past because facing the present means inevitably that you must face death itself.
You feel that your ability to gain any sort of original insight out of simply sitting, thinking and writing has been blunted and stunted by reading a million trite memes.
The real life, the waking life, the present life could be great. It may not be noticed by more than a few souls, but it could be great. It could be rich and full, and beautiful, but you have to let it belong to you, to own what is yours and stop giving away your soul to ghosts.