But beneath that performance lies a deeper avoidance: of risk, of judgment, of self-revelation....
opinion
There is a particular kind of disingenuity that emerges in a life lived passively. Not in rest. Not in stillness. But in a life oriented around observation without engagement. A life that becomes a reflection of others rather than an expression of self. It often presents as likability – uncontroversial and agreeable.
But beneath that performance lies a deeper avoidance: of risk, of judgment, of self-revelation.
When one refuses to build their own life, what remains is curation. A carefully managed existence shaped by approval, external feedback, and the fear of being disliked. At first, it appears harmless - blending in, playing safe - but over time, it becomes a quiet erosion of integrity. A subtle forgetting of who you are, and what you’re here to do.
The habit of spectating: There is nothing neutral about avoiding creation. Those who do not build inevitably become spectators. And spectators, when unexamined, often become critics - not out of insight, but out of distance. The further someone is from their own work, the more fluent they become in dissecting the work of others. They speak in commentary. They form identities through reaction. They express, but not from within.
Spectating, left unchecked, becomes a way of life. And eventually, it takes on a moral shape.
It becomes easier to tear down than to make. Easier to diminish than to risk being seen. The self protects itself with irony, sarcasm, detachment. But beneath that surface is often quiet resentment - toward those who dared to try. Because building requires exposure. And exposure requires courage. And courage threatens those who have trained themselves to avoid it.
Cruelty in the absence of self-authorship: Cruelty often arises in the absence of self-authorship. It shows up in those who have never built anything of their own - who have not struggled with the quiet difficulty of creating, nor risked being misunderstood. Untouched by the labour of becoming, they move through the world ungrounded. Not freer. Not clearer. Just less accountable to the weight of effort. And so, they speak with sharpness, but not precision. With confidence, but not conviction. What sounds like insight is often distance. What sounds like certainty is often projection. What sounds like restraint is often fear - fear of being seen, of being known, of being wrong.
Their judgments do not come from depth, but from the surface of things. And the voice they offer to the world has not been tempered by trial, only polished by detachment. But beneath the polish, there is often a longing. A longing to build. To risk. To matter. But without authorship, they remain spectators. And in the absence of effort, power becomes something borrowed, not earned. Something wielded not to create, but to reduce.
A personal ethic: This is not abstract for me. It is a lived ethic. I have no interest in spending my life consuming the expressions of others while silencing my own. I want to write my own story, not live in the margins of someone else’s. Forge my own path, not walk what’s paved. I’m not interested in outsourcing my identity to the thoughts, preferences, or aesthetics of the crowd.
I want to be in direct contact with my own experience - so that when I speak, I know where my words come from.
This is not about performance. It is about presence. It is about choosing to participate in life rather than comment from a distance. There is a kind of quiet dignity that emerges when your thoughts are formed through lived attention, not mimicry. And it is in that dignity – not visibility - that real worth is found.
The moral consequences of passivity: What concerns me most about passive living is not just what it does to the individual but what it does to our society. A person disconnected from their own direction becomes more vulnerable to projection. They seek identity not through contribution, but through critique. They become sharp without depth. Loud without clarity.
Reactive without responsibility. Our entire cultural ecosystem is built on this energy - commentary mistaken for substance, gossip mistaken for analysis, performance mistaken for truth. The line between reflection and attack has blurred. The result is a culture that is increasingly reactive, increasingly hostile, and increasingly hollow. Meanness thrives where agency is absent. It becomes a substitute for voice. For vision. For depth. This is not a call for perfection. But it is a call for responsibility. If we want a more humane culture, we have to stop normalising the energy of the unengaged.
A culture of builders: The alternative is not glamorous. But it is honest. It is the choice to build. To take authorship over your life. To create instead of critique. To form thoughts from your own ground rather than borrowing them. To risk. To stand for something that might not be widely affirmed. And those who live this way tend to leave more room for others. Less envious, more grounded. They are not interested in making others small. They are too engaged in becoming whole. A culture of builders does not shout. It stands. It holds. And it does not wound to feel alive.
Eventually, you must decide: Will your life be a mirror, or a blueprint? Will you live in reference to others - or in alignment with yourself? A life of spectatorship may be safer. But it is thin. It offers affirmation without selfhood. Comfort without meaning. It will not make you someone you respect. The path of creation takes time. It asks everything. But it builds a self no one can take from you. Be the architect. Not the audience.
Neshmeeya Abbas is an author, based in Amsterdam. She can be reached at neshmeeya@gmail.com
