There was once a time when I'd venture home from a long day at work, bunker down in front of the glare of my computer screen and unravel my thoughts by putting pen to paper (or finger to key, so it happens). I could filter through the babble of daily life and render that one feeling, that decision, that knocking revelation suddenly useful, simply through exposure.
I craved it. I had to have my moment - my silence, as it were - and it was the only way to find the peace in my mind to sleep at night. Quite literally. I needed to organize the nonsense to calm my thoughts enough to rest.
And now, there's nothing. We've been kicking around with the person inside us for decades and yet feel no more sure of ourselves than we are of a stranger on the street. We question our motives more than we do the shadows in the eyes of others. We doubt instinct. We ignore the intuition we were told to follow in the dark.
Instead of filtering through our own thoughts, we venture into the worlds of others so we can latch onto theirs. We delve into books, into movies, into shows with characters too shallow to get to a read on.
We prefer to laugh than to consider. And to sink into our guilty pleasures instead of developing our own sense of self.
And no one ever taught us how to swim.
No comments:
Post a Comment