Running
I always seem to be running.
First I run the typical and hackneyed runs. Running errands. Running the show. Running out of time. Running away. Running to the finish line.
Then there is the running that I do best. You can call it running in circles. For me, it is the process of trying to move forward and ahead in life while constantly looking back and hauling the burdens of the past with me.
Everywhere I go I carry the hearts of loves lost, my memories sketching out vivid reminders of the most poignant moments in life and promises yet to be fulfilled. In my mind the past is constantly set on replay.
I carry the weight of my family legacy, ever eager to break free from the boundaries of poverty, heritage, and other disadvantages. I yearn to restore dignity to my predecessors and establish a presence for every sacrifice that has gone unrecognized.
I also carry consequences with me. Silent retribution for decisions hastily made and the faltering steps of inexperienced youth. Take my guilt for example. Unlike its sibling, regret, which is merely remorse over things done, guilt is a consequence that drives you in the direction which you should run.
Add to all this a constantly growing list of things I could have done, could still do, and pretty soon history and the present are indistinguishable from one another.
You see it in my writing. Interspersed recordings of what I feel from the perspective of what I felt. I live in the past tense. Incomplete. Erratic. Unable to catch up and write about what I am currently doing or going through because that would mean stopping to see the whole picture. And that is something I have not yet learned to do. At least not online.
And so the race continues. My endless running, however slow it may be.
First I run the typical and hackneyed runs. Running errands. Running the show. Running out of time. Running away. Running to the finish line.
Then there is the running that I do best. You can call it running in circles. For me, it is the process of trying to move forward and ahead in life while constantly looking back and hauling the burdens of the past with me.
Everywhere I go I carry the hearts of loves lost, my memories sketching out vivid reminders of the most poignant moments in life and promises yet to be fulfilled. In my mind the past is constantly set on replay.
I carry the weight of my family legacy, ever eager to break free from the boundaries of poverty, heritage, and other disadvantages. I yearn to restore dignity to my predecessors and establish a presence for every sacrifice that has gone unrecognized.
I also carry consequences with me. Silent retribution for decisions hastily made and the faltering steps of inexperienced youth. Take my guilt for example. Unlike its sibling, regret, which is merely remorse over things done, guilt is a consequence that drives you in the direction which you should run.
Add to all this a constantly growing list of things I could have done, could still do, and pretty soon history and the present are indistinguishable from one another.
You see it in my writing. Interspersed recordings of what I feel from the perspective of what I felt. I live in the past tense. Incomplete. Erratic. Unable to catch up and write about what I am currently doing or going through because that would mean stopping to see the whole picture. And that is something I have not yet learned to do. At least not online.
And so the race continues. My endless running, however slow it may be.