on filling cavities and early departures...
and so my time in san antonio is thankfully coming to a close...
the future. it is all i can think about these days. not just the immediate future, of course, but the grand scope of my life. where will i end up? what will my profession be? will i like the person that i eventually become, or will everything in my life just keep moving toward some inexplicable point in time? i am afriad, i suppose. afraid of existence's uncertainties just as everyone else is. after all, what would it mean to be human without suffering beneath the burden of the human condition?
these lonely two weeks in san antonio have allowed me to do a great deal of thinking, and this period of introspection, as it often does, has resulted in a confusing state of my being. at times, i look confidently toward the coming years, subscribing to the notion that the answers to my current questions will reveal themselves slowly but surely. i suppose that this optimism would be a rich source of comfort if i could only force myself to believe it. in reality, i am begining to question many of my recent decisions regarding the next major movements in the course of my life. i often worry that when the cards are all laid out on the table and the time has come for my aspirations to become realities, i'll be exposed as a mediocre writer with dreams far beyond his grasp. perhaps it is my first real taste of pressure, an unprecedented expectation for creative progress, that, as of late, has transformed writing into the source of so much fear. i hope that this apprehension is fleeting, but what if the feeling is permanent? as is the case with most of life's complications, only in the passing of time will an answer be offered. so it goes.
the alarm is set for sunrise...
the future. it is all i can think about these days. not just the immediate future, of course, but the grand scope of my life. where will i end up? what will my profession be? will i like the person that i eventually become, or will everything in my life just keep moving toward some inexplicable point in time? i am afriad, i suppose. afraid of existence's uncertainties just as everyone else is. after all, what would it mean to be human without suffering beneath the burden of the human condition?
these lonely two weeks in san antonio have allowed me to do a great deal of thinking, and this period of introspection, as it often does, has resulted in a confusing state of my being. at times, i look confidently toward the coming years, subscribing to the notion that the answers to my current questions will reveal themselves slowly but surely. i suppose that this optimism would be a rich source of comfort if i could only force myself to believe it. in reality, i am begining to question many of my recent decisions regarding the next major movements in the course of my life. i often worry that when the cards are all laid out on the table and the time has come for my aspirations to become realities, i'll be exposed as a mediocre writer with dreams far beyond his grasp. perhaps it is my first real taste of pressure, an unprecedented expectation for creative progress, that, as of late, has transformed writing into the source of so much fear. i hope that this apprehension is fleeting, but what if the feeling is permanent? as is the case with most of life's complications, only in the passing of time will an answer be offered. so it goes.
the alarm is set for sunrise...