Where were you the last time your world stopped making sense? For me, it's been the last eight months.
I remember sitting with a friend as the day dwindled toward evening on September 11, 2001. Two weeks into my last semester of college, we were sitting and watching the known world crumble in smoke, tragedy, and hate. I remember that our discussion turned to one fact: that our world had just drastically changed and it might not be for the better. Our economy has improved and there is a sense of restored security. But always in the recesses of my conscious mind there exists a hint that tomorrow is an unknown. It is a Biblical truth.
I'm not sure where the line was between knowing I had something to give the world and thinking the world had something to give me. I don't know where that line was, but I've crossed it. It had something to do with money, and respect, and doors unexpectedly closed, or any of a thousand other reasons one could offer. When did my self stop being less and simply ish?
I'm approaching more quickly than I care to admit a decade since I left home with so many dreams to realize. In that time, I've learned so much about myself. There is less and less I like. For one, I am fallible. I can make a mistake many times over, in varying degrees of severity without learning a thing. After long experience and arduous labor, I have fashioned a meticulous cloak of apathy, which, always at the ready, I may throw about my shoulders in a moment. For some reason, I had to teach myself to not care.
I struggle with this daily question. Must I prepare myself to lose what I desire and abandon hope, or shall I cling to hope and persevere through tribulation all the while enduring the pain of watching my horizon slip ever further away?
In the world of psychology, there is the ever present debate of nature vs. nurture; studies leaning one way, research countering. Yet, there is no question in my mind that there are those born to cheerful disposition and those born to melancholy disposition. And I don't know why...
Soon, I must sift my life like wheat. Perhaps I will discover the nuance of direction. Perhaps I will discover passion again.
I remember sitting with a friend as the day dwindled toward evening on September 11, 2001. Two weeks into my last semester of college, we were sitting and watching the known world crumble in smoke, tragedy, and hate. I remember that our discussion turned to one fact: that our world had just drastically changed and it might not be for the better. Our economy has improved and there is a sense of restored security. But always in the recesses of my conscious mind there exists a hint that tomorrow is an unknown. It is a Biblical truth.
I'm not sure where the line was between knowing I had something to give the world and thinking the world had something to give me. I don't know where that line was, but I've crossed it. It had something to do with money, and respect, and doors unexpectedly closed, or any of a thousand other reasons one could offer. When did my self stop being less and simply ish?
I'm approaching more quickly than I care to admit a decade since I left home with so many dreams to realize. In that time, I've learned so much about myself. There is less and less I like. For one, I am fallible. I can make a mistake many times over, in varying degrees of severity without learning a thing. After long experience and arduous labor, I have fashioned a meticulous cloak of apathy, which, always at the ready, I may throw about my shoulders in a moment. For some reason, I had to teach myself to not care.
I struggle with this daily question. Must I prepare myself to lose what I desire and abandon hope, or shall I cling to hope and persevere through tribulation all the while enduring the pain of watching my horizon slip ever further away?
In the world of psychology, there is the ever present debate of nature vs. nurture; studies leaning one way, research countering. Yet, there is no question in my mind that there are those born to cheerful disposition and those born to melancholy disposition. And I don't know why...
Soon, I must sift my life like wheat. Perhaps I will discover the nuance of direction. Perhaps I will discover passion again.
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