as i get older, these times of tumult seem to be more difficult to convey. the question of why i’m even trying to communicate myself to others seems more unanswerable, and i find that i get dissatisfied with my inability to make an exchange more valuable than reticence. i used to find the act alone offered some kind of mollification; that by somehow making the changes and difficulties in my life more real to others, i’d made them more real, less intangible, more digestible. these days i feel like it’s more effort than return—a chance to inform instead of a chance to meditate.
i have set a deadline, and in doing so, my final days here are taking on a new lustre. with mortality, the pains of life here are now the novelty of it. i have briefly considered that i may have been capable of this mindset all along, and that i’ve just been keeping myself from it… but can any of us truly control ourselves to that extent, or should we?
i worry that i’ve simplified my answers and stopped myself short on a path that may have opened in time, but i’m not foolish enough to think that there won’t be others… that there won’t be opportunity wherever i decide to be. it certainly is easier to see the potential in the known than to gamble on it elsewhere.
even with all that’s going on, i have only less to say.
tomorrow i will wake up and, for a moment, forget where i am. i will have changed, and that is as much as anyone can hope to do with their time—to change and be grateful for it.
