Peace vs. Restlessness? Which bodes better?

Been thinking a lot about existential aspects lately, been ruminating quietly and hopefully, deeply on the issue. I tend to kind of hunker down and think and self-argue my way through instead of putting fingers to keyboard right away, unlike a very good friend of mine , who seeks and finds peace in writing.
Many a time a random comment or a slightly longer conversation does send me off on a tangent and gets me into a reflective state; recently, there was one such comment. A colleague who said he was trying to understand what made me tick asked if I was satisfied with what I did and did I not feel restless, given that I was more or less doing the same thing over a time.

That made me think. And this is what I came up with.

A degree of self-satisfaction, a sense of peace that what you are currently doing, the task that you are executing is what you were meant to do, needs to be there.

This sense of peace, of rightness, as it were, is what enables me to give my very best to the task in hand, so much so, that I strive to excel at what it is that I am doing. This results in me going to the Nth limit, straining and expanding my visible or current boundaries for the task in hand and learning whether I can push these limits further, thereby expanding my horizons first; then helping others' expand theirs. Of course, given that it is a very practical world, at least the openly visible professional part of it, this dedication, this drive to be the best leads to: a) ultimate personal-professional satisfaction; b) being acknowledged as the best, that there is, at least within your defined professional space (could be limited to the company, could be industry-wide).

And then, I can release that restless spirit that is always present, bring it to the surface, allow it to have its head and seek newer pastures as it were, fresher, more complicated arenas, which will obviously need the focus of all my energies to experience, to understand, to conquer a new domain. It is this restlessness to learn, to explore, to gain new knowledge, to master it that pushes me to expand myself, both professionally and personally.

Having planted my flag on various fields, I move on to the next one. Does this make me a varied specialist or a generalist, I don't know. What I do know is that this allows me to be the best that I can be, to give to my most external limit, to push myself beyond.

Tendrils of half-grasped thoughts-do I know thee?

I keep telling myself that today I will put fingers to the keyboard after work and write something, but somehow after a long hard day at work I simply can't muster up enough enthusiasm to switch the computer on and pen something down. And on the weekends, oh well, they go by so fast that one wonders if they were there in the first place. And today, well, I am here, fingers on the keyboard trying to write, but somehow, somewhere I don't know what I should really write about: it's as if there is some thing holding me back, telling me to wait till things get some clarity before putting thoughts to paper.
Do I have subjects or thoughts i want to pen down? You bet, I do. But they are half-formed, there, yet not there, I can feel tendrils in the back of my mind reaching out to emerge, yet when I go after them, there is nothing but a fine mist, as it were. And I wonder, if I misread some cues, am i meant for blogging, do i really have what it takes to blog. And sometimes, I find myself strangely on the Outside, looking in at the window as if I was a stranger, into a house where someone sits at the computer hitting away at the keys. And I wonder if that can be right? Can somebody at once be so involved in doing something and at the same time stand apart as if they were an impartial observer. And yet, if you were to reach out to me, call my name, I would perhaps take some time to respond, if that is so, why do I feel like I am looking into a stranger's house, a stranger's mind?
And that makes me think: Do I know myself at all? Or do I just think I know myself. And how does one go about knowing oneself. Am I what I am because of what I do, or how I behave, how I react, interact, who I know and who knows me? Who am I, why am I here. Why do I do what I do?
I am sitting here on the comfy sofa in my living room, music playing and that too music that I am particularly fond of and can quite lose myself into and yet there is a restlessness, an awareness that something somewhere has to fall into place. And yet I know not what. It is as if someone hath taken a duster, quite an effective one at that, and wiped my mind-slate clean. But that can't be so: " I think, therefore I am" or did i get that wrong too?
Anyway, the more I think about it, the more some lines echo in my mind: I "hitched a ride with the wind, and since he was my friend, I let him decide where we'd go..." Is it time to hitch another ride with my friend, the wind? Do I really want the wind to decide where we will go this time, or is time to be a wild flower again because "...when a flower grows wild, it can always survive, Wildflowers don't care where they grow..."

RIP IE 6

Just came across this requiem for Internet Explorer 6.0 and thought I would share it. Thanks for the heads up to @Netra