Opportunity. Perseverance. Things to discover.
Handcuffed. House arrest. Marching to a beat.
Free. My own boss, with the world at my feet.
I've been robbed of the things I like to do but forced to cycle through them to decide the next move; tasked to choose, during temporary recluse, the things about myself I refuse to lose.
But it's not really that easy. How important is it for life to please me when loans, responsibilities, and reality continue freely. Money can't buy happiness sounds awfully childish and cheesy when desperation and despair follow every bill my mailbox feeds me.
The last three months of my life have been really hard. I've been charged with overcoming a struggle with something we all feel alludes us until it proves to include us - the law. I won't go into it, cause it's really not pertinent, except that it's there. And whether its fair or not, or if I deserved to get caught is, how they say, so two months ago. The ultimate low. The self-pitying, drama-indulging thoughts about quitting that serve no other purpose than to worsen the blow.
So after a month hungover, accomplishing pretty much nothing but growing 30 days older, it was time to get back in the drivers seat. Which was anti-climactic and not automatic. And a grind. Because I find that the balance between being responsible and being satisfied is hard to define.
At times I've felt lonely which is really ridiculous, because everyone my age, whether wild or meticulous, steady or ambitious or quiet or conspicuous all get visits from all these life questions that question our limits. Had I escaped it, not listened or bounced back in minutes I would have missed the opportunity of strengthened resilience.
So opportunity is what I've decided to call it. Blind optimism I thought it until the alternative that was so obviously bleak and retarded took off its mask and I finally saw it. So now I bask in the midst of a future happiness that, though covered in mist will eventually, absolutely, surely not to be missed.