I must remember the trite cliché .. “the joy is in the journey.. not the destination.” Because I’ll never arrive. And that’s the good news. There’s always the next thing. And sometimes two or three things. Actually, not sometimes… usually.
I’m still, still searching for my form of enlightenment. And it doesn’t, for me at least, come in the form of a tattoo, or a t-shirt, or a routine. For me at least, it comes in random pieces, during a late night, tearful walk with the dog. Or sometimes in the pages of the stack of books on my bedroom floor. Or even in the middle of a boring, staff meeting, when my mind is half engaged and half wandering. And lately, through fading pieces of bizarre disturbing dreams.
I can’t save or fix or even help what is broken around me. And maybe I’m not meant to. It’s their joy to find in their own journey. Who am I to disrupt or intervene?
And there are so many voices screaming so many opinions, I’m sick of the shouting match. There is way more grey in my world than there used to be. I sometimes long for the black and white again, but I refuse to be so naive. I want to be around those who can see the big picture. I want to know you if you are looking, questioning, searching, asking, open as I still am.
And if you are so sure of everything in your world, please, shut up about it. It's boring.