hipshot bummer

In most cases, I do not fully agree with what I write, or what I think. I never trust myself with anything, most certainly opinions. And this is no exception.

There is nothing more heart breaking or destructive than dreams, or aspirations. Any individual, upon reading what I just wrote would be correct in assuming that I am not succeeding at what I want to do, and that I am merely whining. . Another individual, perhaps one who is some what close with me would call me ungrateful, as I have been able to experience a dream realized. Although, dreams are incessant, they are tenacious. They do not cease unless they are murdered. I would be skeptical of anyone who claims that a dream realized is a dream satisfied. As Arthur Schopenhauer quite accurately expressed, a satisfaction of desires only births new ones. My dream has come true and it has since become a nagging nightmare.

Oh! I have such a thorough, genuine, and ardent love for certain things, coupled with a paralyzing degree of critical standards which I must apply to myself as ruthlessly and enthusiastically as I apply it to others. I am a cynic and an optimist all at once. On the quiet evenings I can find rest in the fact that I still have aspirations be a certain type of person, and during the day, I remember that, however strong ones desire is to accomplish a goal, there are always, lurking behind every obligation, reasons to come to terms with the situation at hand, a situation that fights tooth and nail against romantic progress. I can put my mind to it, and my mind will cower under the scope of the more expansive reality…not from fear of what others will think, but from something much more paralyzing, fear of what I think. Those motivational speakers will categorize me as the ones who are afraid to change my world, afraid to “go for it,” although, how often have I wanted to tell people that they should not go for it, and surely that is what I often tell myself. I am drowning in the talent and ability of others who paint with colors they invented, while I spend hours trying to creatively and poignantly sum up my 31 years into a body of clumsy words or power chords. I am a coward, and the monster I avoid is the reality of which I am a part.

I have heard of God’s will, and I been reading CS Lewis and Simone Weil who speak of the supernatural love of a God who reveals a harmony–a harmony which only those who are willing to leave themselves open will have. I must say they are correct, because I too have never had that feeling. I have my will and that is what I desire, that is what drives me to self elation and self loathing. I know nothing of God’s will. I see it in poetry, I hear people speak of the mysterious alignment with God which they can not even explain, but only be thankful that they experience it. If I believe I am God’s creation, then it is what God himself instilled in me that drives me into these pathetic states. I’m entirely untethered.

This is not a dismissal of my past based on the conditions in which they unfolded, this is a look in the mirror which demands I locate my disposition, it demands I come to terms with an evolution which is nothing more than a torturous tease littered with all that I am told I should be thankful for, littered with all that keeps my nightmares of mediocrity alive. Oh the selfishness, such that I fail to see what I should be thankful for. Forgive me, or rather do not, I am human, and while that is always a reason, it is never an excuse.

Just because I have dreams does not mean that they should come true.

I want to expr….

oh. time for work.

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