An Old Cliche
I believe there is still greatness in the world and, regardless of its lack in me, I am privleged to be one of the fallible billions who are occasionally graced by its presence.
I have found a new interest in heroes - not those whose actions are benevolent or kind or selfless, but enormous of intention and effect.
I have realized in this interest a distinct emptiness of character that is my greatest flaw. I remember many years ago someone I cared about was warned that I did not know who I was and I remember railing against the thought vehemently. Over the last fifteen years I have come to realize the absolute truth of it and to realize that it was this truth that so unnerved me.
I do not write because I have nothing to say. I do not draw because I have nothing to show.
I reflect what is around me. Like the moon (an old cliche), when I shine it is not my own light.
This leaves me foolish and untempered by personal will. This is not of my choosing yet of my own design.
As I get older, all I want to do is go back and shake myself awake at some critical moment so that I might go forward with my senses intact. I am aware that I am not alone in this - I don't believe I have ever had an original thought or feeling. But there is only the getting older and the meaningless continuation. I am a poorly realized character in a poorly written play.
The good news is that I am not done. How could I be if I never started?
I have found a new interest in heroes - not those whose actions are benevolent or kind or selfless, but enormous of intention and effect.
I have realized in this interest a distinct emptiness of character that is my greatest flaw. I remember many years ago someone I cared about was warned that I did not know who I was and I remember railing against the thought vehemently. Over the last fifteen years I have come to realize the absolute truth of it and to realize that it was this truth that so unnerved me.
I do not write because I have nothing to say. I do not draw because I have nothing to show.
I reflect what is around me. Like the moon (an old cliche), when I shine it is not my own light.
This leaves me foolish and untempered by personal will. This is not of my choosing yet of my own design.
As I get older, all I want to do is go back and shake myself awake at some critical moment so that I might go forward with my senses intact. I am aware that I am not alone in this - I don't believe I have ever had an original thought or feeling. But there is only the getting older and the meaningless continuation. I am a poorly realized character in a poorly written play.
The good news is that I am not done. How could I be if I never started?