I have been addicted to a screen for over twenty years. To a pattern. Beneath it lies the hunger for attention — for being seen. When I pay attention, I can live with it. When I forget, I am immediately back in it.
The question — “What is the meaning of your life?” — has always done me harm. It was, and partly still is, too big.
What helped me was something else.
Serving
As far back as I can remember, I wanted to serve and give something back to the community — to the state, to the people around me.
That sounds noble. It was also that. But it was something else too: my commitment to minorities, my fight against the far right — the feeling of counting. Being needed, having a place. My need and my value found each other. That is why it works.
This was always there. It was my drive before I knew how to use the word “motivator.” But first I had to learn — and still have to — to endure myself in the process.
On the Overflowing Barrel
My addictive pressure grows stronger when I store up problems instead of speaking them out. Every small thing I swallow fills a barrel further — until it overflows. And when it overflows, I end up at the screen.
In therapy I learned to relieve the barrel. Three steps: name the situation. Name the feeling. Name the change I wish for. And to a counterpart — out loud, to a real person.
That sounds simple. At first it was genuinely hard. Because the “you” immediately slips in. My first attempt sounded like this:
“X, last night you used up all the sugar even though I was standing right behind you. I was sad and wish that next time, when someone after you wants tea, you’d ask whether you should share the sugar.”
That is an accusation with emotional decoration. The “you did” turns a message into an attack. It works better like this:
“X, last night when I wanted to make tea, there was no sugar left. I was sad. I’d like it if we shared the sugar when there’s not much left.”
Same situation. Same feeling. Same wish. No pointing finger.
It was important to practise with small things. Because when it goes wrong with small things, it is half as bad. And because with the big things it only works if the small ones are settled.
What I Mean by Motivator
A motivator is a concrete thing that makes me angry or alive. Something I stand up for — even when I feel terrible.
Serving is my drive. The concept of the overflowing barrel is a tool.
At some point I asked myself questions. What makes me angry when I read it in the newspaper? For whom or what would I get up in the morning? What should happen in my world — and what absolutely should not?
My answer was: to strengthen (empower) minorities or protect them directly. I have been doing this as far back as I can remember — certainly since I was nine or ten. I love getting involved.
It could just as well have been something else. “No elderly person should die alone.” Or: “No one should end up on the streets.” A motivator only needs to look outward.
The question of meaning always looked inward at me and found silence. The motivator looks outward and gives me a direction. I began, and the healing keeps arriving along the way.
One Small Step Every Day
With the motivator I have the reason. What I still lacked was the daily action.
One small step a day. Go outside. Shower. Look at a person. Sometimes the step was a good deed — holding the door open for a stranger, asking someone how they are and waiting for the answer. Sometimes it was just: close the screen and stand outside for ten minutes.
It cost something. But less than I thought. And on the days when the step went outward — for someone else — it changed the most. Because in that moment I stopped circling only around myself.
The steps get bigger over time. But the strength grows with them. The effort stays the same.
That is enough.
By René Jochum and Claude (Anthropic). License: CC-BY-4.0.