My impatience is going to get the best of me. For the better part of the past two years, I have been almost obsessive with not only clawing myself out of this massive hole of despair but trying to assign meaning to everything as well. Every person. Every experience. Every feeling. Every decision.
While I don't doubt that there indeed is meaning ascribed to all of the above mentioned, I can't help but feel at times that I'm trying to live beyond my years. I'm so busy trying to get to that point, that mysterious, shape-shifting yet undeniably desirable point where everything is supposed to make sense, that I'm missing all the good stuff along the way. I mean, I have an appreciate eye and a heart as well as an ear and mind. I know when to stop and smell the roses...
I just seem to have this nagging feeling that what I'm trying to grasp at simply doesn't exist-not in a physical sense anyway. It's self-created. Maybe I created it to give myself a light at the end of the tunnel? I don't know. What I do know, is that I have wasted far too much time waiting for this act of 'self actualization' to reveal itself. I can't falsely create it; that would defeat the purpose. Like love, I only need to enjoy the ride along with myself, and it'll come. I won't know when, and I won't know why, but what's life without a little bit of magic?
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