The Paradox of Being Human: Boundless Desires, Finite Days
A short video sent by my regimental officer about the beauty of Arunachal Pradesh, a friend’s journeys across more than 40 countries for work without really being able to enjoy them, the countless books recommended by friends and family which I wonder when I would get to read — and of course the people to meet, movies to see, relationships to deepen — got me thinking.
Is one life enough?
This question has haunted me, and I know it has visited every person at some point. On introspection, I realised it is not the shortness of life, but the vastness of being human that gnaws at me.
There is a huge tension between infinity and finiteness — between the infinite curiosity and capacity within us, and the very finite boundaries of our time and body. Life feels too short for anything. My heart, like probably everyone else’s, wants to taste the whole universe — every place, every book, every conversation, every possible version of myself. But the paradox is — I can’t. And it’s that very impossibility that gives life its ache.
So I began to wonder: When would I ever feel complete? Is renunciation the answer?
The opportunity to walk the Dandi Path has also brought an alternate opportunity — to read books on and by Mahatma Gandhi. In An Autobiography – The Story of My Experiments with Truth, I came across the word Aparigraha. Gandhi writes: “The observance of the vow of non-possession does not mean that one must have no possessions. It means that one must possess nothing beyond one’s needs.”
At that moment, something shifted.
I had wrongly understood renunciation as giving up worldly life, material possessions, and withdrawing from the world. A kind of poverty by choice, a visible external act. For me, renunciation meant turning away from the world. But the truth is quieter and subtler — something each of us can practice daily.
Renouncing the need to do it all.
This is not withdrawal from life’s richness, but letting go of the hunger to experience everything. It is inner renunciation — releasing the restlessness to conquer the world, releasing the illusion that we can hold it all. Renunciation is not escape from life — it is renunciation inside life. When we speak of renunciation, we often reduce it to clothes, food, or money. But the deeper renunciation is of inner clutter:
• the need to be everywhere
• the need to do everything
• the need to prove completeness
In today’s world of YOLO (You Only Live Once) and FOMO (Fear of Missing Out), this feels even more urgent. We fear missing pleasure and meaning — and this is what fragments our life. The problem is that we are not living one life; we are mentally trying to live ten.
That is the opposite of freedom.
Gandhi’s idea of Aparigraha is anti-FOMO long before the acronym existed. It is not about giving things up, but about not letting things own us. In a world where we feel pressured to experience everything to live fully, Aparigraha is the courage to say: This much is enough for me.
YOLO says: Maximise experiences.
Aparigraha asks: Maximise awareness. Were we truly present?
What we need is renunciation of excess mental occupation — the renunciation of “more, more, more” as a life philosophy. My question — When would I feel complete? — slowly found its answer. Completeness comes not from quantity of experiences, but from the quality of presence during these experiences. When time stops feeling insufficient, desire stops feeling urgent, and comparison stops being painful — that is true inner renunciation.
I often misunderstood Gandhi spinning the charkha as mere symbolism. Today I see it as pure discipline: one person, one thread, one hour. Not because spinning would solve everything — but because it trained the mind to stay with one act without craving the whole universe. That is renunciation in action: Choosing one small, honest act — and resisting the urge to be elsewhere.
The truth is — one can’t see it all, love it all, or do it all. But one can be fully present in whatever one sees, loves, or does. That changes the texture of life. It transforms the anxiety of “so much to do” into the quiet wonder of “so much to be.”
Maybe that is the real secret.
“Just Be” feels extremely tough today because it requires saying no without guilt, and being still without being bored.
Maybe I must not rush to live many lives. Maybe I just need to stand still — and live this one honestly.
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