The Beginners manualMature

A rant. I'm not sure what else to call it.

I know there is a time in everyone’s life where everything they do seems to fall short of the expected minimum. I know this to be self evident. I can no longer find solace in theater so I have once again turned to writing to help me solve my problems. This isn’t the first time that I have become disenchanted with the  idea that what I want in life is different from other people. I know that my parents want me to get an education and to go on and  make my life into something amazing, but part of me wants to just screw life and be myself. I want to wander and travel, and meet new people. It has to be beyond writing essay’s and teaching and reading from books. I want experience and the ability to find my own new passions.

It isn’t going to get any easier from here, but where do I turn. There is a fork in the road and I sit and stare down both paths trying to decide which one will lead me somewhere and which one won’t. I can’t go on like this forever. I know there’s a path that I’ll gladly walk down someday that will end with a white picket fence and dogs, and kids and a loving husband, but until I get there the path is full of twists and turns and rocks.

I wonder if the path is full of hot coals to burn my feet or if I just imagined them. I wonder if the cliffs I need to climb get steeper every second that I wander away from them. I wonder if my feet will find solace in soft green patches of grass or on gravel of the sands of my ancestors. I can only wonder if my epiphany came to late in the game to change the outcome or if I can stop now and forever be a new person, a respected, freethinking one. There are so many options for one as young as me, but I still have to believe that there is only one path that I will ever feel comfortable walking.

Self pity, and self mutilation are words that I can speak but never act on. I want to feel pain, I want to be closer to god, but I can’t do anything but kick at the rocks on my path and praise the lord that I don’t feel the pain. I can’t bring myself to fully understand pain, and the feelings of love, interment, or anything else. Sure I get angry, but I find myself standing alone on summer nights and praying for other people and not my own sad sob story. When did it stop being about me? When did I cross that line into, I don’t exists but I can make your life better.

The other day I was standing in the middle of a crowded room, and everybody moved toward a door. I stood stark still and three people ran into me as If I wasn’t there.  One girl hadn’t even realized she bumped into a person.  That bothered me. I am a real person not just a shadow of someone or something.  People can walk right past me and not give me a second glance.  It’s irksome but at the same time I’ve decided that the day will come when I will become one with the environment and will be of godly status. People will pray to me, because of what I do for them, not because of who or what I am now.

Today I gladly stare my own indiscretions in the face and wish that I believed I was better than them. I have no power over my own innate being and I have dealt with the consequences.  The ability to foster one’s self doubt comes from lots of practice. Not only will I grow up into a mature person but I will always have my head more squarely on my shoulders than anyone else.

The End

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