meandering
I guess I always held a child-like fantasy that if I followed the natural path of my heart's passion, the pain that was welled within me would find a natural course of relief. I imagined it to be much like a swelling lake that pours itself out as a river towards the infinite ocean. Someday, I believed, I would overflow my natural boundaries, and when that day came, the only guide I would need is intuitive gravity. Someday, I might be able to reach beyond this place and time and have a part of me become something beyond this reality.
Natural flow only takes me so far. I trickle over a few beautiful mountain rocks before pouring into a relentless sinkhole that only absorbs my every effort. I become stagnant and fall into a disgusting trap of comfortable monotony. Tedium and routine bear their own stench that saps the very life and energy from my bones and muscle.
Where do I go from here? Where can I go that I have not been before? These questions reverberate in the hollow spaces of lonliness and serve to remind me that even the struggle for uniqueness and orginality in itself is a sad tired tragedy that countless numbers of people have been acting out for years. I've written this same essay hundereds of times, only using different words, and sometimes I feel that's how the majority of human living is spent... finding new ways to do the same old things.
I sit and listen to the couple on the other side of the walls, if they only knew how I felt, listening to them and thinking of how many times I too have found myself caught in the middle of arguments like theirs, they might just laugh off the bickering. I watch the young person struggle to learn the craft of their dreams, feeling so alone, when really millions have walked along that same path. Perhaps strong similarity doesn't steal the uniqueness of the experience. Perhaps these bodies of writing of mine really are moving along a tangible path.. I could actually be making progress, just in small steps. One step forwards, seven steps sideways. Then again, maybe there is only the illusion of individuality.
Maybe someone reading this could finally understand why I don't go out of my way to draw attention to myself. I'm not interested in grabbing massive attention for my subtle differences and gaining the added pressure of hiding the fact that I'm no more and no less than anyone else. I have no desire to point out my mediocre excellence to a crowd that cannot see the whole of me. I'm more content to live life, watching and waiting for chances to dazzle the world with something just a little beyond expectations before settling back down and waiting for a chance to do it again.
We wish upon the shooting stars, not the ones that stand twinkling with the same light in every single night.
Natural flow only takes me so far. I trickle over a few beautiful mountain rocks before pouring into a relentless sinkhole that only absorbs my every effort. I become stagnant and fall into a disgusting trap of comfortable monotony. Tedium and routine bear their own stench that saps the very life and energy from my bones and muscle.
Where do I go from here? Where can I go that I have not been before? These questions reverberate in the hollow spaces of lonliness and serve to remind me that even the struggle for uniqueness and orginality in itself is a sad tired tragedy that countless numbers of people have been acting out for years. I've written this same essay hundereds of times, only using different words, and sometimes I feel that's how the majority of human living is spent... finding new ways to do the same old things.
I sit and listen to the couple on the other side of the walls, if they only knew how I felt, listening to them and thinking of how many times I too have found myself caught in the middle of arguments like theirs, they might just laugh off the bickering. I watch the young person struggle to learn the craft of their dreams, feeling so alone, when really millions have walked along that same path. Perhaps strong similarity doesn't steal the uniqueness of the experience. Perhaps these bodies of writing of mine really are moving along a tangible path.. I could actually be making progress, just in small steps. One step forwards, seven steps sideways. Then again, maybe there is only the illusion of individuality.
Maybe someone reading this could finally understand why I don't go out of my way to draw attention to myself. I'm not interested in grabbing massive attention for my subtle differences and gaining the added pressure of hiding the fact that I'm no more and no less than anyone else. I have no desire to point out my mediocre excellence to a crowd that cannot see the whole of me. I'm more content to live life, watching and waiting for chances to dazzle the world with something just a little beyond expectations before settling back down and waiting for a chance to do it again.
We wish upon the shooting stars, not the ones that stand twinkling with the same light in every single night.