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1210 Prose: Significant Pursuit
I travel a similar roadway, each and every day of my life. Since moving to another city, I've found a new roadway to travel, each and every day of my life. I cling to these paths because they become easy and trivial; I can navigate them in a trance, without a thought towards my direction. I know where it is that I'm going at that particular time. I'm going to work. I'm going back to the place where I'm staying. I'm going to buy some groceries. I'm going to get a smoothie.
I'm afraid of traveling places that I've never been, because I feel as if there's no guarantee that things will ever be the same afterward. It's a silly thing to dwell on, but at the same time, I rarely receive any kind of challenge to alter my paradigm.
These ways that I've adopted are in a similar vein to my life as a whole. Not entirely depressing, but entirely futile.
I've been in total drift since the moment I set foot outside of high school. Being in a relationship at the time and having the delusion of college productivity in my near-future, I didn't really have any space in my mind to concede to it. I was doing what I was told to do, and that seemed good enough to me. But I think far too much, and after I became single and floundered out of my education, I realized that I wasn't really moving towards anything. At all.
I chase my tail, day in and day out, hoping for something relevant to make its impact in my world. I've spoken of this, to myself and to others who provoke me. I don't try to come up with solutions anymore because in many ways, I've been trying to find a destination for myself for as long as I can remember. I expected my friends or my family to solve my problems for me, or at least, to point me in the right direction.
The sad thing is, after all of what I've just written, I can't speak of any kind of momentous realization. I can't proclaim my new-found determination to make something of myself because I don't feel any different. I'm lost in this scenario that I've made for myself and really, at the moment, there doesn't seem to be an end in sight.
I speak of concrete as something that hurts my ankles after a six hour day. I speak of heat as a nuisance when I can't get comfortable in the apartment. I speak of my body as a tormentor, almost as if it is outside of me. I speak of life as a ridiculous puzzle. I speak of myself as a nobody. I speak of everybody else as though they possess a logic that I do not.
And for years, I told everyone around me that I believed myself to be a failure. My endeavors are split and the way that I see things is flawed. I have made myself into that failure; into something I loathed the very thought of for most of my adolescence. Is it because my concept of happiness is just far too much to ask for? Is it because my dreams involve me being immersed in something that I have endless passion for?
I don't really know if I have passion anymore. I'm not entirely sure if I ever did, for anything or anybody.
I want to tell myself, here, on this page, that things are going to be okay. That I'll forge a destiny for myself, something that was always meant to be the driving force behind my life, in good time. But I can't say that, because I don't really know that.
If I could find something, anything to really fight for. Something to build towards and improve myself in order to achieve it. If I could find a reason to be, as a human being with goals and desires, then maybe I could settle my mind.
Everyone has things that they are good. I'm good at a lot of things. I'm a talented mother fucker, and whenever I feel motivated to, I become good at something else.
Why can't I find something to need?
