Send Me on My Way

Whenever I start something like this, my mind reels on what I should even write about, how it should be written... I could go on, talk about how I'm trying to navigate my abysmal brain through the clouds of chaos... again there's many ways I could have started this off. I want to talk about what brewed it, the thunder, the lightning. It's funny to think that the latter actually comes before the former. Then again, in life, we don't always see what's coming. We hear it in our heads: our greatest fears. What we don't realize is, when we let them consume us, that is when they strike. It's troubling for me to even write about this because I haven't fully realized it myself yet. Those clouds become bigger when we're afraid of what we cannot control. The storm in my head, you must be wondering? It's raging more than it ever has. From within, down to my fingers, onto these keys, in front of my eyes... it drains from me all that needs to be, and lets the sun in. As I say this, the sun illuminates the world outside my window. It's a state of mind we all wish we had, but no one is free from the storms that life creates. It's a struggle for me to get these words out, but I already told you that. Maybe I'm too nervous, thinking my voice won't be heard, or at least not in the right way. It might not be satisfying for me, but isn't that the snake-eating-its-tail all writers face? Facing it. That's what I'm doing right now. So enough being scatterbrained... here goes nothing (that has many meanings to me right now, but maybe I'll go into that later).

Friday. A day just like any other: seeming so certain in its recurrence even though, unbeknownst to us (not all of us, but not just me either), it never is. That's the mindset I'm stuck in I guess. The kind of person I am, as you've already read, is an immensely self-critical one. As a recent college graduate in debt, I was working two jobs. With the shift of my second minutes away from beginning came a call that made that "was" so prominent in the previous sentence. The job was temporary just like any other, but it ending shellshocked. Sure, my weekend was to soon begin after a few more hours of work, and sure, I still had this job, but there was a ringing in my mind's ears that's still channeling through them today. Nine months and change was the price I had to pay, unraveling the future woven by my mind's hands.

The future. Hope is the fabric we use to weave the fantasy. That's a high percentage of what we consider the future to be. We barely consider the reality unless we choose to think practically, which again, we barely ever do. I may be redundant. It's just the way my consciousness streams. Time keeps on slippin', a wise man once said, and what else can I do but bring myself there by going with that flow, even when its course has changed. We don't know why it happens, even though we may think we do. It's what can turn hopes into fears: what did we do wrong to make this happen? That still isn't practical. We need to reach one hand beyond the storm consuming us for the sun to soak... to give us the power to melt it away. It can be hard to do that, though, when there's many more variables to our lives...

Immediately after the call I received, I called those who I confide in the most. They told me what I have been trying to tell myself... to reach beyond the storm I find myself in. The ways of doing so: those are what differ between us. There's a standard that's been set for us: a process that drags into what may or may not even be. Yes, taking that chance is important, but why do I find it to be a waste of time as opposed to this. This. Typing these words onto this processor. I live and breathe it, even at its toughest. Even right now. I can't say how long I've been sitting here pondering the articulation of flurrying thought bubbles, those very storm clouds. It has brought the percentage of my laptop battery is in the teens. Teens, a time that seemed so easy when it came to surviving financially. The job that remains: I've been in it for the last several years, from summers to part-time in all other seasons. That's what my confidants reassured me in. On my down time, though, during the day, I'd rather complete something I'm proud of in the moment so the world can truly understand me. Our world doesn't let us survive off of that, though (or does it?).

Tomorrow, I plan for. I tend to do that all the time: too much, and between the planning and the happening, there come too many distractions. Ever-changing urges coalesce with ever-changing circumstances, or maybe circumstances that are too consistent. Reaching beyond the storm, into the beam of the sun... that's only one analogy. Maybe it's what we're doing with the lightning we're caught in. Those energies can surge through us. They've already allowed these thoughts to flourish into breaking waves. They have the capacity to get the blood pumping... to take steps not only physically, but down a new path in our lives. We can enter a new world of inspiration we've never seen, or maybe have seen, but just forgotten. What we consider the "normal routine" could be the distraction from the passions these energies translate to.

I'm going to ride the lightning the storms of our lives create. Just as much, I will soak up the sun it brings. As I dim my screen and bring this to a close now that my computer's in the single digits, I think on the future, all that I can make of it, and all I can share of that. Unfinished thoughts aren't flaws, they just haven't been understood yet. That is the way I am sent on. The first of many actions I take. Every experience is an epic, and I look forward in anticipation of the next.