At least once in your life, do something truly great. Something greater than you.
This thought came to disrupt my concentration, like a grain of sand in a well-oiled machine.I had been typing away an article about new tile collections (not as boring as it sounds) when it happened. So ensconced I was in my seat, in my thoughts and combination of words that it did not seem possible that this had come from me.
Yet left and right, everyone was as sucked into their own screens as I was.
It dawned on me then what caused it. All the generous amount of time I had been spending slowly, intentionally was reaping its fruits : creativity, disruption.
Doing “nothing” and being alone lets the mind wander. Instead of only exposing the mind to others’ ideas, you let the ones from your own sprout. They grow in silence until, one day out of the blue, their tender leaves tickle your clouds of thoughts and startle you awake.
“For even one time in your life,” some part of my brain pressed on, “see how far you can go for no other reason than to just know. Journey all the way to your last limit and discover, uncover new and old things about you. Push your small clay body to its earthly limits, show the universe what you’re made of. Don’t you want to experience even once the feeling of being the ultimate form you can be? What’s the point of being given a life if once at least, you don’t live it above and beyond the average? Set out to conquer yourself, to overcome the version of you that you are now!”
Be better, burn, burn in the pursuit of a nameless truth. Burn from passion, and do not ever satisfy yourself with the safety of a lukewarm life.
I know that however life ends, I will not die deeply pained, aching, ever longing.
I have already been seen, been acknowledged. Not as myself necessarily (because how rare is that, that someone else would understand what you yourself cannot express?). But I’ve been seen nonetheless : there are stories, movies and music out in the world that make my truths go wild, hammering against the underside of my skin.
There are moments. God there are momentswhen I feel as though all the dots have connected and I can explain to myself that I was born to live this moment, however simple and solitary and ordinary-looking. I was made so one day I could gaze at the stars, shivering under the midnight drizzles-turned-showers that make you feel more alive than anything else has or could.
In nature, I find myself. It is that simple, that inexplicable. Perhaps it is also in the expression of their own selves that I find myself in others. And you know, maybe I’d like to do that, too. Maybe, maybe I’m hoping that this, whatever this is, can make someone feel that they aren’t the only one who feels the way they do.
It’s that simple, that unattainable. The feeling of being seen, understood.
“How do I show you all the experiences I carry with me, all these burrows of treasured memories? All this undeclared wealth that I have amassed with every wrinkle, every laugh line?”
How do I explain what it is that is inside me? How can I convey to you the wonder I feel from days that have long since passed? How do I tell you about the scent of hot bread on the way to school? About how we used to stuff it in our pockets, about how warm it was against your leg? How do I make you feel the warmth of the summer of 2004, when I climbed on the roof for the first time and I flirted with the edges of danger and freedom, when I dreamed of sprouting wings? That summer when I knew little of sadness and too much of shared meals and laughter and beautiful sunsets? How do I show you all the experiences I carry with me, all these burrows of treasured memories? All this undeclared wealth that I have amassed with every wrinkle, every laugh line?
I wish I could touch you or just look into your eyes and show you the light that shines within. To let you know that though my smile is sad, my spirit is at ease. But my tongue slips, and I manage to turn even the magical into the ordinary. There is not a thing that leaves my mouth that is not underwhelming.
There is so much of me that I cannot explain, so much that is lost in gestures and sounds and made-up words.
I cannot invite you to my world. I am lost within it and cannot find the way that leads to it—I do not even know the way out. But I can only hope, from here on out, that you will keep searching for it with me.
You toss and turn the night away,
as if hoping that the movement will
cause all that’s wrong inside,
to finally fall back into place.
You’re restless, breathless and hopeless.
And I want to say: “You don’t have to be.”
Because it is when disassembling the pieces of a Lego house
that you have enough parts to create a bigger one.
Everything doesn’t have to be in place all the time,
else it means that things have never moved,
that they have never changed.
But you, you want to evolve.
You want to grow.
You want to be a better you.
So embrace the messiness.
Make out with the idea that you’re a work-in-progress.
We all are.
It’s just that some of us are building foundations,
and others are redoing the paint.
But even then, you never know when
you’ll want to knock the whole thing down
and start all over again.