I guess there comes a point in life when you cast yourself out of your body and hover in mid air to look at yourself objectively. For me, it’s the disillusionment of everything I’ve ever held sacred and steady, of all the good I believed people to have in them and the conviction that the world does conspire to do what will benefit you the most.
As morose as all of that sounds, I would like to believe myself hopeful, possibly further emboldened, some innate desire to be stubborn because here I am, up on this pedestal that I’ve worked so hard to climb and I truly think that the day I lose my mind and lose perspective would be the day I fail my expectation of me.
Nevertheless, I do not think myself invincible, a twinge of hurt, a moment of panic, of hate and loathing and then this impatient desire to see where the road ends for me. In victory? Or contention? Honestly, I’ve never been able to decide which means more.
I have the problem all figured out, it’s the solution that’s being elusive. Wherever there’s a part to be played by someone other than me, that’s where it all gets shaky. People should come with instruction manuals and more importantly a translation dictionary. This constant going back and forth from deciding I can count on somebody to laughing at the mere idea that I would even consider doing something that stupid-it’s exhausting.
Funnily enough, there are times when I think it would be easier to be that person that relies and depends, that asks and gets. Maybe some one numb minded who does what they are told, who responds to whatever direction they are tugged. That would be easy, but again, there’s this voice. It wants more, it demands more, it expects more.
Rebecca Randall exclaims to her teacher at the beauty, the smooth sheen of a pebble to receive a lecture on how the pebble had to fight its way in the river, rub against rocks and break away in to pieces to finally be appreciated in this regard. I think about that a lot. Like it’s this constant battle and I need to be steadfast in my beliefs and to tell myself that I’m up to this challenge.
I would rather we were fighting an actual war, with swords (just more fantastical). You get bloodied, you get stabbed, and you get hurt. It would have been more pure, more honest. The pain wouldn’t be phantom; you could have put your finger on it, “Yup, that’s where something is wrong, let’s see if we can fix it.”
The idea helps all the same. Wars make heroes, those who fought valiantly, who died for honour and pride. War doesn’t guarantee success, it doesn’t ensure that you will win or the fact that those moments of fighting will be any happier, it simply promises you a chance; you’re a better warrior the longer you hold on and this in some strange way gives me comfort.
The heat of the battle is upon us, there’s the enemy relentlessly attacking you, you parry one blow and then the next. You don’t think what happens next but keep fighting, every moment alive, every moment meaningful.
No- I’m not YOLO-ing here.
The idea is, that it’s ok to not have life figured out, ok that we don’t have the answers. That moment of panic, where you break into a sweat because everything is in shambles around you, I think you’re supposed to live with it. Answers will come, one idea, one experience at a time, and since the idea of laying down your arms is so despicable, we’ll fight. Some we win, some we lose and in time, we learn to let go of the losses.
As morose as all of that sounds, I would like to believe myself hopeful, possibly further emboldened, some innate desire to be stubborn because here I am, up on this pedestal that I’ve worked so hard to climb and I truly think that the day I lose my mind and lose perspective would be the day I fail my expectation of me.
Nevertheless, I do not think myself invincible, a twinge of hurt, a moment of panic, of hate and loathing and then this impatient desire to see where the road ends for me. In victory? Or contention? Honestly, I’ve never been able to decide which means more.
I have the problem all figured out, it’s the solution that’s being elusive. Wherever there’s a part to be played by someone other than me, that’s where it all gets shaky. People should come with instruction manuals and more importantly a translation dictionary. This constant going back and forth from deciding I can count on somebody to laughing at the mere idea that I would even consider doing something that stupid-it’s exhausting.
Funnily enough, there are times when I think it would be easier to be that person that relies and depends, that asks and gets. Maybe some one numb minded who does what they are told, who responds to whatever direction they are tugged. That would be easy, but again, there’s this voice. It wants more, it demands more, it expects more.
Rebecca Randall exclaims to her teacher at the beauty, the smooth sheen of a pebble to receive a lecture on how the pebble had to fight its way in the river, rub against rocks and break away in to pieces to finally be appreciated in this regard. I think about that a lot. Like it’s this constant battle and I need to be steadfast in my beliefs and to tell myself that I’m up to this challenge.
I would rather we were fighting an actual war, with swords (just more fantastical). You get bloodied, you get stabbed, and you get hurt. It would have been more pure, more honest. The pain wouldn’t be phantom; you could have put your finger on it, “Yup, that’s where something is wrong, let’s see if we can fix it.”
The idea helps all the same. Wars make heroes, those who fought valiantly, who died for honour and pride. War doesn’t guarantee success, it doesn’t ensure that you will win or the fact that those moments of fighting will be any happier, it simply promises you a chance; you’re a better warrior the longer you hold on and this in some strange way gives me comfort.
The heat of the battle is upon us, there’s the enemy relentlessly attacking you, you parry one blow and then the next. You don’t think what happens next but keep fighting, every moment alive, every moment meaningful.
No- I’m not YOLO-ing here.
The idea is, that it’s ok to not have life figured out, ok that we don’t have the answers. That moment of panic, where you break into a sweat because everything is in shambles around you, I think you’re supposed to live with it. Answers will come, one idea, one experience at a time, and since the idea of laying down your arms is so despicable, we’ll fight. Some we win, some we lose and in time, we learn to let go of the losses.
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