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The sun will turn around and begin its return sometime this coming morning. During this, the longest night, my eye seems to be fixed on the past. Unlike many times when I have looked back, however, it feels I am seeing not my deeds -- my failures and accomplishments -- but searching for what I can learn from them.
The candle I am burning tonight is one I bought a decade ago, and never lit until tonight. It has almost always decorated my room since I obtained it, sometimes tucked away in a recess of a shelf, sometimes shown brightly in the sunlight of a windowsill. It bears the marks of my travels in scratches and dents all over it surface, and those of my folly as well in the face which melted and ran in too much sunlight. A decade ago. That's almost exactly when it became clear I'd stepped off the path.
Each year, it seems, I do less. This could perhaps be the perspective of age, as fewer experiences seem new, or outright pessimism. Or perhaps it is a sign that I am growing complacent, even boring. On the other hand, as I thought earlier, perhaps this has all been my way of teaching myself patience, a virtue in which I am rather lacking. I seem to have learned how to float gently through life, appreciating what joys it brings me and not being overly distressed by its disappointments. I certainly don't display the incredible and constant intensity of emotion I did a decade ago. And yet, I often feel as though I have no drive, little I can get myself invested in doing; and, as such, I often fill my time without purpose.
Perhaps I have learned the wrong lesson. I needed to learn how not to be the candle burned from both ends. It seems, however, that I've set my default state to inactive, with occasional bursts of that same intense activity that can't remain focused for long. I still need to learn what I have always needed to learn -- how to move steadily toward a long-term goal, bit by bit, month by month, year by year. Or perhaps this ring I wear, after seven years of perseverance through far too many setbacks (most brought upon by myself), should be a demonstration that I know how to move in this way, and what I need is a goal.
Certainly, the last is worth speculating upon. I don't really know where I want to go next. Of course, that's pretty much what has characterized the last decade of my life, if not my entire life. There are people who have suggested that I can do anything I want to, and I'm self-confident (or vain, you decide) enough to believe there is a lot of truth to that. However, it's not that useful when there isn't really anything I want to do.
Do I need some long-term goals to stop feeling unsatisfied, bored, and as though I'm not doing anything with my life? Is there actually something that will make me happier, or is somehow objectively or morally better, than this sort of content floating along until something catches my attention, then focusing on it and making it happen, then returning to floating? My life as I live it certainly seems to drive everybody who cares about me up the wall with frustration, trying to get me to move on and do better. And yet, there's still not really anything I want.
Enough for now, the passion to write has left me.
The candle I am burning tonight is one I bought a decade ago, and never lit until tonight. It has almost always decorated my room since I obtained it, sometimes tucked away in a recess of a shelf, sometimes shown brightly in the sunlight of a windowsill. It bears the marks of my travels in scratches and dents all over it surface, and those of my folly as well in the face which melted and ran in too much sunlight. A decade ago. That's almost exactly when it became clear I'd stepped off the path.
Each year, it seems, I do less. This could perhaps be the perspective of age, as fewer experiences seem new, or outright pessimism. Or perhaps it is a sign that I am growing complacent, even boring. On the other hand, as I thought earlier, perhaps this has all been my way of teaching myself patience, a virtue in which I am rather lacking. I seem to have learned how to float gently through life, appreciating what joys it brings me and not being overly distressed by its disappointments. I certainly don't display the incredible and constant intensity of emotion I did a decade ago. And yet, I often feel as though I have no drive, little I can get myself invested in doing; and, as such, I often fill my time without purpose.
Perhaps I have learned the wrong lesson. I needed to learn how not to be the candle burned from both ends. It seems, however, that I've set my default state to inactive, with occasional bursts of that same intense activity that can't remain focused for long. I still need to learn what I have always needed to learn -- how to move steadily toward a long-term goal, bit by bit, month by month, year by year. Or perhaps this ring I wear, after seven years of perseverance through far too many setbacks (most brought upon by myself), should be a demonstration that I know how to move in this way, and what I need is a goal.
Certainly, the last is worth speculating upon. I don't really know where I want to go next. Of course, that's pretty much what has characterized the last decade of my life, if not my entire life. There are people who have suggested that I can do anything I want to, and I'm self-confident (or vain, you decide) enough to believe there is a lot of truth to that. However, it's not that useful when there isn't really anything I want to do.
Do I need some long-term goals to stop feeling unsatisfied, bored, and as though I'm not doing anything with my life? Is there actually something that will make me happier, or is somehow objectively or morally better, than this sort of content floating along until something catches my attention, then focusing on it and making it happen, then returning to floating? My life as I live it certainly seems to drive everybody who cares about me up the wall with frustration, trying to get me to move on and do better. And yet, there's still not really anything I want.
Enough for now, the passion to write has left me.