Rebirth

Sometimes, I don’t know what I’m doing. Like I’m just listlessly floating through my life,hoping, wishing and praying for something magical to happen. It’s fucking exhausting. It fucking sucks. I’m a doer. Always have been, always will be, so the idea of sitting around waiting for something to happen doesn’t sit well with me. But the feeling of moving forward just because I need something to happen, isn’t comfortable either.

The balance I unconsciously strive for is that of growing up. Not the ‘adulting’ variation, but the biological timeline of growing up: infancy, adolescence, etc…Once we’re born, we cannot turn around and return to the womb because the cold, hostile air of the world is too much of a shock. We’re forced to keep going, keep living, wailing bloody murder as we take our first breaths. It’s a pattern that repeats itself in life from the pain of growths spurts to the horrors of menstruation. Once you’re there, there’s no going back.

I cannot go back. There are parts of me that want to, the parts that are rife with doubt and lack of confidence. The parts that weigh the unknowns and remember the failures. Yet the there’s another even bigger, invincible part that just galvanizes me forward, like the miraculous stimulus of biological growth.  The big fuck you to an existence that could be filled with a misery that only the mundane can fulfill. It’s not a particularly profound proclamation, but a stealthy propulsion in the forward direction. Or better yet, it’s the inner adult that holds your hand, gently pulling your juvenile energy forth in the right direction. I trust and follow, though I may not know where I’m going, and every time it just feels right.

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