Clocking In, Zoning Out: The Silent Deterioration of Self

The Numbness of Routine

The past few weeks have been a blur, fast-paced, relentless. A new job, new responsibilities, a new reality to adapt to. And as the chaos begins to settle, I notice something strange: silence. A silence that is neither peaceful nor eerie, just there. My mind is empty. It feels as if someone has pressed the mute button on my thoughts.

I try to think, force thoughts into existence, but there is nothing beyond work. No distractions, no daydreams, no moments of inspiration. It’s not a meditative silence, the kind you cultivate with mindfulness and discipline. No, this is different. This is the numbness that settles in when life becomes mechanical. When everything else fades, only the essential remains.

Wake up. Work. Sleep. Repeat.

The job itself isn’t high-pressure, yet it consumes everything. The realization creeps in: this is why people hate the 9-to-5 grind. This is why they look drained, lifeless, as if some unseen force is siphoning the soul out of them, one email at a time. And the worst part? The job isn’t even bad. It’s just… there. It exists. It demands. It eats away at the hours until, suddenly, the day is over, and nothing meaningful has happened.

I understand now why people look forward to weekends as if they are lifeboats in an endless sea of monotony. Because when Monday arrives, it starts again. The cycle. The routine.

And yet, what’s the alternative? Leave the 9-to-5 and work 24/7. At least in that scenario, you own your time. You dictate the terms of your suffering. That’s the pursuit, isn’t it? The search for something that allows freedom. The search for something that makes existence feel more like living.

I’ve felt this silence before, a long time ago. During university, there were brief moments of it. But back then, it was different. It was a break, a pause between the chaos of assignments and socializing. Now, it’s an absence. An absence of time, of space, of life outside of work. And I wonder, is this what everyone just accepts as normal? Do people feel this dead inside and just keep going?

Perhaps they do. Perhaps it’s easier to pretend it’s fine, that this is just adulthood. But I don’t want to pretend. I don’t want to accept this as reality.

The Disgust for the Ordinary

People disgust me.

Not all of them, just the ones who wear their job titles like badges of honor. The ones who speak in corporate jargon as if they’re delivering some divine wisdom. The ones who, for some reason, think that being a "stakeholder" makes them superior. Like, congratulations, you have a job. Do you want a parade? A medal? A standing ovation for sitting through another pointless Teams call?

And yet, I see myself in them. And that’s what disturbs me most. Because at least they are blissfully unaware, while I am painfully conscious of it all.

There is something inherently soul-crushing about being surrounded by people who have given in. Who have convinced themselves that their LinkedIn bio matters. Their email sign-off is a symbol of status. That they have "made it" because their title now has a fancier prefix.

And maybe that’s my problem. Maybe I’m the one who refuses to assimilate. Maybe if I just embraced the nonsense, the posturing, the illusion, I’d be happier. Maybe if I started using phrases like "circle back," "low-hanging fruit," and "synergy," I’d feel like I belonged. Maybe if I stopped questioning why we spend hours making PowerPoints that no one actually reads, I’d finally find peace.

But I can’t. I won’t. Because the moment I accept this as my reality, I’m done. I become them. Another cog in the machine. Another faceless professional with a meaningless title and a slowly eroding sense of self.

And that’s the part that terrifies me. The idea that one day, I might wake up and not care anymore. That I might stop feeling this disgust, this resentment. That I might, against all odds, become one of them.

The Pursuit of Something More

So what’s the way out?

That’s the million dollar question that keeps me up at night. Because it’s not enough to just hate the system. It’s not enough to recognize the emptiness of routine. You have to escape it. You have to find something else. Something that makes the grind worth it, or better yet, something that removes the grind entirely.

People say, "Follow your passion." But passion doesn’t pay the bills, at least not immediately. And in a world that demands financial survival, the luxury of passion is reserved for those who already have a safety net.

But I refuse to believe that this is it. That this cycle is all there is. Because if that’s true, then what’s the point? Why even bother?

I don’t have the answer yet. But I’m searching. Because the numbness of routine is not something I can live with forever. And if there’s one thing I know for certain, it’s this: I will not become one of them.