I come here when I am sad.
I'm tired.
Nothing is working. My plans are all falling apart. I don't know if I just don't have the luck, or I'm just not working hard enough.
Everything I've done so far has been a waste of time, it seems. It's like running a marathon with every ounce of strength, only to discover later on that I've been on a treadmill this whole time. Stuck in one place. Stagnant. Pointless.
I had hoped for so many things. A life that I chose, and the ability to support it, and the ones I love. They've been by my side while I stand before crossroads after crossroads, leading myself (and by extension, them as well) deeper into the wild unknown.
Now we find ourselves in the middle of nowhere, with no signposts, and no paved roads.
How can I tell them that I am lost, and I can't lead them to safety? What do I say, after almost a year of laborious trekking, with nothing to show for it?
"I cannot find the way."
"I have failed."
"I am so, so sorry."
Because they had their doubts. They raised dissenting voices when I told them that this is the path, this is where we should go. And I debated with them, and asserted my influence over them. Eventually they became quiet, and they decided to let their leader - me - to lead the way. "We believe in you," they said, "Walk, and we will follow."
The roads I led them on were filled with barbs and impassible terrain. I hacked and slashed my way to progress. Sometimes it got better; we found a decent trail a few months ago that we stuck on ever since, but it was decayed and old. We weren't even sure if it would lead us out of the jungle. But it was a promising start, so we followed it.
We're still on that same old trail. And patience is running out. Not just theirs, but mine too.
Sometimes at night, when everyone is bedded down and asleep, I look up at the stars and obsess over my predicament. What if I don't make it? What if we starve to death on this old road? Worse still, what happens if my partner loses faith, and leaves to search a new path on her own?
That is my waking nightmare.
I am close to giving up. I don't want to risk it all to find a mirage. I want something for my efforts. I want to go back, to where I began and tread the same paths everyone else is on. At least I'll be fed, and my family will be happy.
The people will be awaiting my return, ready with insults and condescension. They will have their fun, and I will be like them. Normal. Mundane. Fed.
There is one last gambit I'm willing to play, but it will sap all my energy and supplies. The old trail may be a long and winding road, but some have traveled it and lived to tell the tale. This one? Little to no markings; only fools would dare to pursue it.
At the end of that road lies a treasure that I greatly desire. The payoff would be immense, but the dangers are great. If I succeed, I return a hero. If I fail, I am a fool.
My compass dances towards the unlit path. I am afraid, but I am willing.
I pray that I survive.
Nothing is working. My plans are all falling apart. I don't know if I just don't have the luck, or I'm just not working hard enough.
Everything I've done so far has been a waste of time, it seems. It's like running a marathon with every ounce of strength, only to discover later on that I've been on a treadmill this whole time. Stuck in one place. Stagnant. Pointless.
I had hoped for so many things. A life that I chose, and the ability to support it, and the ones I love. They've been by my side while I stand before crossroads after crossroads, leading myself (and by extension, them as well) deeper into the wild unknown.
Now we find ourselves in the middle of nowhere, with no signposts, and no paved roads.
How can I tell them that I am lost, and I can't lead them to safety? What do I say, after almost a year of laborious trekking, with nothing to show for it?
"I cannot find the way."
"I have failed."
"I am so, so sorry."
Because they had their doubts. They raised dissenting voices when I told them that this is the path, this is where we should go. And I debated with them, and asserted my influence over them. Eventually they became quiet, and they decided to let their leader - me - to lead the way. "We believe in you," they said, "Walk, and we will follow."
The roads I led them on were filled with barbs and impassible terrain. I hacked and slashed my way to progress. Sometimes it got better; we found a decent trail a few months ago that we stuck on ever since, but it was decayed and old. We weren't even sure if it would lead us out of the jungle. But it was a promising start, so we followed it.
We're still on that same old trail. And patience is running out. Not just theirs, but mine too.
Sometimes at night, when everyone is bedded down and asleep, I look up at the stars and obsess over my predicament. What if I don't make it? What if we starve to death on this old road? Worse still, what happens if my partner loses faith, and leaves to search a new path on her own?
That is my waking nightmare.
I am close to giving up. I don't want to risk it all to find a mirage. I want something for my efforts. I want to go back, to where I began and tread the same paths everyone else is on. At least I'll be fed, and my family will be happy.
The people will be awaiting my return, ready with insults and condescension. They will have their fun, and I will be like them. Normal. Mundane. Fed.
There is one last gambit I'm willing to play, but it will sap all my energy and supplies. The old trail may be a long and winding road, but some have traveled it and lived to tell the tale. This one? Little to no markings; only fools would dare to pursue it.
At the end of that road lies a treasure that I greatly desire. The payoff would be immense, but the dangers are great. If I succeed, I return a hero. If I fail, I am a fool.
My compass dances towards the unlit path. I am afraid, but I am willing.
I pray that I survive.