The leashes, the leashes! Sometimes, and only sometimes, I can feel the tar around me, submerging me. Seperating me from myself. Sometimes, I feel I could break free of these restraints, these phony traits. The human shell.
And I would stop all I do wrong: all I am expected to do, but that I deep down know I shouldn’t. All for the sake of comfort, I risk resignation, I risk forgetting, I risk dying in life. I would stop it, and I would travel. To rediscover the forsaken, remember the forgotten. I would travel to visit my soul.
For some time, I have feared the loss of parts of myself. I have worried that central things like my imagination, persistency and sense of wonder are waning. “Am I growing up?” I’ve thought. Has my admit of defeat in love brought upon me irreversible changes, that strip me of the things I thought was the real me?
Time and thought can be dangerous tools. I love it when things make sense, so as time passes and sense doesn’t present itself, my mind paints sense. Just like those speculations. As more time passes, I’ve thought about it so much that it’s irrelevant whether I believe it’s true or not. It’s become part of my horizon, and my involuntary trust in it will make it true. I daresay that this really is how some of us grow up.
But it creates a heck of a good view being just where it is.
Without the horizon, I do not know which way to go, and even if I go the right way, I will wonder why I did so, without any sense of purpose.
Here I am again, talking about attitudes towards life. I lost faith for a while, but now I’m back. I believe I created something of myself through this journal, and leaving would be forsaking that. Now I choose not to.
We are sometimes afraid of ourselves, conforming to what feels safe just to lessen our anxieties, our fears of the unknown, however good.
Why do we all hinder ourselves? Why do we hold back, in favor of being gray? Is is because we are afraid of loss?
Even when we know what can be, how life can be, why oh why do we still do nothing? Why do I do nothing?
Humans can be so special. Relationships can be so special. But we.. no, I. I am so afraid. I cannot hide behind mankind on this one. It’s childish, it’s introverted, it’s straight-out stupid, but I am afraid of letting anyone close. All my life, I have kept more distance from others than I can honestly say I’m happy with.
Why doesn’t matter. Whys are not just excuses, they are shields; shields of lies that you can hide behind and believe it’s okay that you’re doing something wrong. Psychology is an elaborate shield that lets us be gray with a clean conscience. I will not ponder on why I am afraid and distant, and then be happy with the reason I find most likely. I will not be happy with being like this for the rest of my life, with not being as I think people ought to be.
Difference starts somewhere. And then it spreads. We would all do best not to resist the kind of change that this movie inspires in us.
Machinae Supremacy’s latest album rocks my ears and brains and loudspeakers and makes me want to dance.
The album tells me this: There’s always something to fight for. If you lack concrete things to devote your attention to (which a lot of us do, I daresay), then fight to remove that very fact! Fights in this sense are always fights for better days. Yet we look upon today’s human society, and we acknowledge that we’ve got everything and even that is not enough. This depresses us and makes us believe that there are no “better days”. So we forget and ignore that insistant feeling we have inside, the promise of wonder and happiness. We think things can’t improve, and so there is nothing to fight for. That’s when we need to fight to reactivate that wondrous feeling, fight to start believing again, fight to create something to fight for.
And somewhere across that line we might come to realize that the fight itself is the whole point.
I have a never-ending thirst to provide it to others.
Every joy I feel, I want to share. Every good thing I discover, I want to pass on. If doing that was easy, I would be a very happy person, for I have so much to share. But it’s not easy, so I always try to refine my methods. It’s not like striving to be accepted, which is generally a bad thing. No, I strive merely to become a better person, a better friend, a better mentor. A better father.
The past holds all of our dearest memories. But beware of forgetting yourself. This post is about finding the courage to stand on your own feet, as the result of your past, instead of looking to it as all that is good and gone.
For many years, perhaps since my birth and until some years ago, I had a very grim outlook on change. Change means an ending of something you’ve been a part of. Change means letting go of something old and heading into an uncertain and scary future. And if you look into it the wrong way, like I was good at, change is melancholy. However small a change, change is death itself. Change means that the world and life gradually parts from you, and leaves you alone.
That detachment doesn’t hurt just superficially, it lashes out to your very soul. It is a pure form of loneliness, and it has a beauty, as most emotions do. In reasonable quanta, it’s an important part of life. It should be accessed sometimes, I think, for the same reason that we need to preserve machinery. But loneliness is a brittle bridge over chasms, and shouldn’t be taken lightly or made a habit out of.
The world is full of possibilities, of treasures and pitfalls. I implore you to forget the latter and aim for the former, or you might find yourself going in the wrong direction altogether.
So many possibilities. So many worlds. So many futures.
Which will I live? What have I got to choose from? Is the choice even mine?
How many joys have I forsaken already, what happiness have I excluded?
And if I were born in another time? Or on another planet, or in another universe altogether?
Believe it or not, this kind of thinking actually makes me feel very secure. I suppose it is because it removes my worries about the life I actually lead, it takes focus away from here and now. I am a dreamer. At least, I was, once. Not too long ago. I haven’t dreamt all that much the past year. But I want to dream again. For without dreams, there is only here and now, and currently that’s not all that exciting and adventurous.
Yesterday I refurnished my room. The practical reason was so there’d be better room for my christmas tree. But the true motivation for doing it was so the room would look and feel different. And it worked extremely well! The change in lighting (now from my christmas tree) gives the room an all-new atmosphere.
Despite that and the fact that is was December 1st, though, yesterday was a bad day. I can tell the bad ones from the good ones from the very moment I wake up; on the bad ones that moment is typically two hours after I wanted to wake up, and also two hours before I manage to get out of bed. Also it’s always cloudy and gray outside. I can still feel good on a bad day, through effort, using music, movies and art. But if I venture outside I will risk interacting with other people in a manner that might make me feel at a lack of social abilities, and I might lose whatever good mood I have in the blink of an eye and exchange it with grinding anxiety. So on bad days I tend to stay at home.
Today was another bad day, with a sky covered by homogenous rainclouds. Yet it’s been quite a special day, too. Even though nothing happened. Here’s how it went: