I’m sitting on the train, thinking- Thinking about my body, about the cells that feel tired.
About the strength that has left me a little over the past few weeks.
The need to save myself and, at the same time, to let myself fall. I see the traces of getting older on me.
I feel as if I’ve aged rapidly within a single year, as if someone gave me a cocktail that made me age, and now I’m looking back.
I watch the trees passing by. A part of me looks at myself with skepticism. Doesn’t quite believe me. Doesn’t believe the experiences I was allowed to have, doesn’t believe what I’ve managed to do. Everything happens in fast-forward, and I’m watching it happen.
The person I once was doesn’t exist anymore.
The person I’m becoming will get what she wants… but the wanting itself has come to a stop. I let myself drift. I mean- Control doesn’t exist anyway, but direction does.
If I let go of the steering, where will it take me?
And what is it that drives me?
Where do I find the thing that gives me direction?
Is it even important to have one?
Direction comes from passion, from orienting yourself toward a goal. But a goal assumes an ending.
And maybe that is the illusion of time…
But if we plan everything, if we only move through life checking things off, living entirely toward the next goal, do we even allow ourselves to be touched by life anymore?
For many years, I was striving for safety. And now I’m realizing how much that way of thinking restricts me from developing, from becoming…. Let’s say everything happens exactly the way we imagine it will. Then what would make life worth living??
I guess Fulfillment can only happen when we imagine life as a river.
Because it is nothing more than a sketch.
Actually, less than a sketch.
A sketch without a picture.
romaincrisis
yousharknotpass
turnnoffyourmind