I chew up this blog and spit it out, the words a watermark; a stain providing undeniable proof that, at this pause - spanning this moment in time - I am here.
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The long lines of the metro are peppered with the black, white and gray of the DC uniform. "Doors opening." Three beats. "Doors closing." Ding dong. It's a cyclical morning pattern that tunnels to the workday. My uncle once told me, "People don't really like to float. They like to feel attached to something or somewhere, like they have a purpose." Is this rhythm part of their purpose? Are these people happy to rise and fall when expected, or are they zombies without the creativity to find alternative solutions? I like to think that their jobs are fulfilling, that they enjoy the people around them in their offices, that their work has some underlying personal meaning or, if it doesn't, that their salary does.
But, since I refuse to sign up for a life of resignation, is this the life I sign up for? Will I enjoy it once it's a part of me, sewn into my skin like Peter Pan's shadow? Or will I be constantly trying to escape and dance off somewhere out of reach...
Thoughts spiral and crackle in my head like popcorn. They burst and fizzle and drive me mad, anxiety blooming and cares retracting in swells that are only reassured by counterattacks of hey, r-r-r-relax. This is only temporary. And so I have my answer.
"To live will be a great adventure."
-- J.M. Barrie
1 comments:
Love the new blog design. Also, this line -' Will I enjoy it once it's a part of me, sewn into my skin like Peter Pan's shadow?' - is brilliant.
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