Today, I don't care.
And you can't hurt me.
Tuesday, February 27, 2007
Monday, February 26, 2007
Perspective.
When one views the landscape from above, it seems so small. So finite. Completely uncomplicated. Without knowing all the variables of the landscape, whether that landscape be physical or metaphorical, it would seem that the landscape could be ripe for domination. Like, one could simply drop in, guns blazing, and assume control over everything.
I am guilty of this naïveté. And now, it has wrecked me.
A year ago, I saw a path. It was sanguine and beautiful and it was mine. My bones ached for it. My dreams called out to it. My miserably uninspiring life was a dreary gray next to what I imagined in my mind as an illuminated, glowy stretch of woodsy trail, threading into a dark void and disappearing far away in the distance.
I knew in my heart that if I stepped foot on this path, this beautiful path, I would be happy. It would all be clear to me. I would carve out an interesting existence for myself along the way, engorged with singular accomplishments and successes, and of course, that all-important independence that until last year, seemed to evade my experiences altogether.
So here I am. A year later. Wonderfully hopeful about the future, and at the same time, more jaded than ever and fully cognizant of the futility of existence. Ever the hopeful cynic, I am. The temptation to run back to my former life is overwhelming at times, yet I stay the course. Why? Why do I continue, though there are days the pain seems unbearable?
When one enters their chosen landscape, and the initiation fades away, they succumb to complications and get sucked into patterns they never thought of and sink deeply into the common fabric, disappearing almost completely. The dream to conquer begins to fade and all that is left are the little things that form the microcosm of each individual existence.
So, while I began to succumb to the complications and patterns of my path, I remember how I felt when I decided to place my foot on it. I remember that wonderfully whole feeling I felt, like being in complete, undistracted love, that feeling of fullness I felt when I first dreamed of the life I was to sculpt. Now, while the dream and the reality are at odds, I remember and I keep going.
I remember meeting with realtors in Hoboken, and each time I drove into town, I felt like I was coming home. I remember the feeling I had when I stepped foot in my apartment for the first time, that this was my apartment! I remember the feeling I had when I learned I got it. I remember the hope I felt at all the possibilities open to me. I remember, more than anything, the feeling that I was supposed to be here. The overwhelming premonition that whatever the next segment of my life was to be, this is where it would be discovered.
I can't say with any conviction that I've begun the next phase of my life; I still feel like I'm in a period of deep transition, actually, but I am starting to believe that I am beginning to walk my path once again. Where it will lead is anyone's guess. Maybe Tahiti.
On deck: lots of new opportunities!
I am guilty of this naïveté. And now, it has wrecked me.
A year ago, I saw a path. It was sanguine and beautiful and it was mine. My bones ached for it. My dreams called out to it. My miserably uninspiring life was a dreary gray next to what I imagined in my mind as an illuminated, glowy stretch of woodsy trail, threading into a dark void and disappearing far away in the distance.
I knew in my heart that if I stepped foot on this path, this beautiful path, I would be happy. It would all be clear to me. I would carve out an interesting existence for myself along the way, engorged with singular accomplishments and successes, and of course, that all-important independence that until last year, seemed to evade my experiences altogether.
So here I am. A year later. Wonderfully hopeful about the future, and at the same time, more jaded than ever and fully cognizant of the futility of existence. Ever the hopeful cynic, I am. The temptation to run back to my former life is overwhelming at times, yet I stay the course. Why? Why do I continue, though there are days the pain seems unbearable?
When one enters their chosen landscape, and the initiation fades away, they succumb to complications and get sucked into patterns they never thought of and sink deeply into the common fabric, disappearing almost completely. The dream to conquer begins to fade and all that is left are the little things that form the microcosm of each individual existence.
So, while I began to succumb to the complications and patterns of my path, I remember how I felt when I decided to place my foot on it. I remember that wonderfully whole feeling I felt, like being in complete, undistracted love, that feeling of fullness I felt when I first dreamed of the life I was to sculpt. Now, while the dream and the reality are at odds, I remember and I keep going.
I remember meeting with realtors in Hoboken, and each time I drove into town, I felt like I was coming home. I remember the feeling I had when I stepped foot in my apartment for the first time, that this was my apartment! I remember the feeling I had when I learned I got it. I remember the hope I felt at all the possibilities open to me. I remember, more than anything, the feeling that I was supposed to be here. The overwhelming premonition that whatever the next segment of my life was to be, this is where it would be discovered.
I can't say with any conviction that I've begun the next phase of my life; I still feel like I'm in a period of deep transition, actually, but I am starting to believe that I am beginning to walk my path once again. Where it will lead is anyone's guess. Maybe Tahiti.
On deck: lots of new opportunities!
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