I remember when I was a child, I wished that I could be satisfied
working behind the counter of a store and I used to be mad at God for
me being a dreamer. I was just so certain that I could not be me and
survive in this world.
And with all the voices (internal and external) asking 'Are you sure?'
where there is no security to be found except a flutter in my heart
when I do what I love, hardly no examples of anyone embodying my dream
and realizing it is because I step in the intersection-the places in
between, the places people step over-that I am needed. It is my
medicine, but is it one of those medicines that taste sweet or taste
like hell, but is still good for you?
I don't know.
Are you sure? Some good intentioned soul asks and I respond, "No, but
there is nothing else to do." And so I walk on, because I can only be
what I am. Everything else is addiction.
No comments:
Post a Comment