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Maybe it's the coffee speaking, or the fact that it's closing in on noon and I haven't done much more this morning than make a small breakfast simply because I don't want to worry about lunch later on, or the need to justify my reluctance to get off of this couch that I'm slowly fading into, regardless, I feel like I need to lay everything out and wade through all the thoughts, the anxieties, the unhappiness, the complete apathy, and disregard for my own journey. The only way I know to begin is to write and rid myself of the excuse that I don't know where to begin. Besides, beginnings are arbitrary and endings don't have to be finite. The difficulty is not beginning but finding one thread of thought to single out.


So here's to hearing the symphony through the cacophony...


The simple matter is that I'm not happy--with my life, my job, who I've become, and who I'm afraid of settling into. And yet, have I done anything to change? Isn't that the beauty of life is that we can take what is given to us, interpret it how we want, and put it through our own personal filters and take what we need? Do I have to sit here and let life happen to me? And why can I only come up with questions? I am stuck in this train of thought of trying to figure out who I am when then simple truth is that I'm being as unoriginal as the masses of conformists that thoroughly piss me off. God, I am that English major who says they want to find that all-evasive purpose and just sits on their ass finding new ways of becoming self-destructive when perhaps the shortest road to self-destruction is asking the same question over and over again and disguising it by changing the wording. Reuse and recycle, right?


So, no, I'm not happy, but I'm done questioning it. Forget that. There is no point to questions that lead to more questions. But I refuse to settle. I refuse to become stagnant. And that's what was happening...I was wallowing in my own self-pity. Hell, I still wallow in it, hence the reason that I haven't taken a shower yet this morning. I'd much rather sit here in the comfort of depression. Because that means I can stay on my couch, watch Goonies over and over, drink myself into a nice stupor, put on one equally depressing song on repeat, and then fall asleep. There is that secret level of contentment in being unhappy, because it is a feeling and identity that I can easily understand and fill the role quite nicely.


And I realize that now, I'm writing this rather personal little piece of dribble in a medium that is anything but private, and while I could write a complete discourse on why we mix the private and public sphere in blogs, the spirit isn't moving me this morning. I'm much too cynical to question it. I'm just posting this shit as some sort of conjunction from my self-pity, "I don't know who I am, or what I want" shit to my "fuck it all, I'm going to just write" attitude that I'm going to acquire. Because that is something I want to be. A writer. It helps me make sense of all these thoughts.


A writer writes and I wasn't. So, I wrote because I'm not questioning anymore and this is what I needed to do. Sorry if you spent time reading it. But, I had to take a step somewhere. No revelations. No need for cliff notes. Just a jumping off point and a truthfulness that life sometimes isn't worth questioning anymore.


Life is in the mundane unfortunately. It's all that forest for the trees, beauty in the beast bit that suppose to make it interesting and worthwhile. So I guess that's where I'll stop questioning and just start doing. It's as good a start as any.

vanities

Where is the drive? Where is the motivation? Where is it that makes us decide to act? There is an idea of desire that we all can sense from within our own being. I feel it every day. I desire to be happy, to make my life what I choose it to be. I feel that desire because everytime I acknowledge it, the emptiness of unfulfillment reminds me that I have yet to make my life my own. Yes, I do have desires and wants for a salvation from my current state of life and mind--to find my happiness.

Yet, here I sit. Unhappy. Unfulfilled. The desire is there. The want remains. But where is that motivation? The drive? Is unhappiness my motivator? Should that alone be enough to push me to pursue happiness? Because it hasn't. It isn't. I need more. More to make me take charge of my life, my wants, my desires. More to push me toward happiness and fulfillment.

No, just the want of happiness is not enough. The problem that faces all of us is finding our true wants and desires. We can reach, but when you know not what you are reaching for, it becomes impossible to grab. You remain under water, swimming desperately to the light beyond the waves at top. You see it. You know it is there. You move toward it. But it remains unfocused, unclear, and unknown. Yet it is there. And in your immediate present, as you swim to break through, is the growing fear and realization that drowning is imminent. But something within you senses that as soon as you break through, you will emerge through the water, that you will be a new person. Now you will have what you truly desire. Now you find your happiness and fulfillment. Now you are born again, revitalized with a new, clearer perspective of what truly matters.


But yet, everytime I think I have reached far enough, that I have found what I need, the waves come crashing back down and again, I sense only drowning. Drowning in the fact that I cannot be happy. Truly happy. I can smile, I can laugh, I can bleed joy. But then I take one step back to see only a fleeting moment. I do not like who I have become. It is meaningless. Completely meaningless. What is happiness? How do I fill up this abyss within? My desires are worthless. My wants in vain. Do I do what is best for me and me alone? Do I focus only on those around me and hope that by making other lives better that mine, in turn, will find a sense of peace and joy? Self-proclaiming or self-sacrificing? Which is it?

It is neither.


It is ignorance. Ignorance of those around you, of those problems that have no remedy. Ignorance of who you are and who you are capable of becoming. Ignorance of anything that may make a true difference. Ignorance of desires and of wants. The only truth you need will lie in a shallow puddle of the same rain that can fill an ocean.

If this ignorance is gone, than is happiness an impossible dream?