This is how I feel today.
I was on a high after a Uni discussion with my English Teacher, when he started talking about my coursework short story with regards to getting it published *happy dance*.
Later walking down the slope of Everest (also known as my street) I was thinking about the metaphor that if you look up the translucent sky then you may think snow isn't falling at all, and wonder why you have a cold sharp drip in your eye. But only by looking down upon the murky black of Tarmac can you see the snow falling clearly. Then I wondered what the heck I was doing with my life, as I'll probably never make it. Then again, what even is "making it" anyway?
Is all we can ask of life to be happy? What even is happiness? How do I find it? How do any of us feel satisfied, ever?
The after popping into my Nana's and feeling guilty as at my age I'm having an existential crisis, whereas she at my age had bread that cost 4 four-pence, no central heating only coal, yet probably the same worries and fears about succeeding as I do now.
She hasn't cured a disease or changed a law or made any more impact than one snowflake falling onto a snow covered field. I didn't ask what her dreams were, as maybe dreams are futile. But she has travelled and lived and believed and loved and if that's not succeeding then I sure don't know what is, and I can only hope for the same.
No comments:
Post a Comment