The Rut I Follow

The tools that I need are spread out before me. I know how to use every last one. I’ve seen most used properly, or I can imagine the proper use for them. I have an active imagination. I know many paths I could take. Most push me to what I believe to be my goal. Others push me to some unknown destination. These are the hardest to follow. My goals can be imagined, they seem probable. Yet, they remain just that. Goals. I can imagine what I believe to be a better me. And I can articulate a clear path to this goal, but I don’t follow it.

This is nothing new. I have been following this path for as long as I could bother to have the thought. I live in a world without a model, a hero, and a clear instructor. I find these piecemeal in many things. Some professors, some friends, some actions of strangers, fictional characters, fictional premises. Plenty of suits on the rack, but non tailored for me. Now this may be asking for a lot, after all why do I deserve a self tailored model to follow and improve? I’m sure that’s not something most have, or even think about missing. But I find myself becoming this model out of necessity. This is not what I want. I am an improper model. If I wrote down everything I knew, I wouldn’t have to go out and buy more paper. I am a student trying to become a teacher, in more than one way. This may sound almost poetic or cliche, depending on who you ask. Though something crazy has happened to me.

I’ve grown. The difference in just the past 2 years is tremendous. I’ve seen friends, families, and strangers rise and fall. I’ve somehow been dropped on a higher platform in these two years. I’ve caught even a glimpse on what it truly means to love, to live, to work, to grow, to listen. I’ve seen in the eyes of those I talk to wonderment, and intrigue. People are seeing me as smart, as a leader. I can see it, but I feel they see a persona that far exceeds not what I’m capable of, but what I actually do and give. I want to lead, but I am afraid to fail.

I know many who’ve failed, and become contempt with where and what they are. At least that’s what they would like me to believe. I want to be happy, be more than just contempt. I like all will die, I would like to die with a smile. To end on top, frozen in my eternal second state. Become the next big stepping stone for someone else to build upon. But will that really make me happy? I don’t know. I don’t know what will make me happy, I can only imagine. I can imagine traveling the world with my significant other, eventually settling down and starting a family. But how long will that happiness last? How long will it take before I crave more adventure? The battery will fail to start the car if it hasn’t been driven. But parenting is the ‘adventure’, and it is one I wish to pursue one day.  It seems to me to be a sure thing. Some things feel like they are a sure thing. I’m sure I’ll graduate college, I’m sure I’ll get a job, I’m sure I’ll be married and find love, I’m sure I’ll start a family and have kids of my own, I’m sure I’ll become smarter and be able to answer many questions I have today. But at times many of these things, if not all of them feel unsure.

It’s not a good feeling to be unsure. It feels terrible to think you know something, and learn or believe that maybe you don’t. I recently found myself in a lull, with a promising promised future that seemed sure and to be steadily finding the path I was following. I had my doubts, theories, and possible paths that could interrupt me. Though seemingly out of nowhere this string of certainty was cut. I feel the desire to move on. I feel the desire to figure out where it went from a certain thing, to an uncertain thing. Already paths have appeared before me. Though I have chosen to follow none. I have dug myself a hole away from all paths. I sit and think, or I get up retrace my steps to a previous path and go back to the hole. I try to find paths within this hole, but there are no paths. Just a hole good to rest, and good to hide. I’m ignoring real problems, allowing them to build up in and around this hole. I’m hoping I’ll float, though I just sink. I find little bubbles of air and brevity that keep my trip in the hole bearable. I look for the rope, the ladder to just drop down in front of me. I know this won’t happen, and I know I already know how to swim. It will just take all my reserved strength to push myself to the top of this hole. I will be out of breath, uneasy, and weak. Only to be placed back in front of all my possible paths.

But I know that I will need to push myself to my limit to succeed, and become even a little bit better than the steady slope I am climbing. Why am I afraid of losing my breath and dying along the way, I am dying in the hole. Would I rather die in darkness, than the hope of light I can see above. Maybe I’m afraid of one single push of myself not being enough. I’m afraid of commitment to so many things in life. To constantly push myself is scary.

But I am pushing myself. It just hasn’t been in one direction. When I push down I also push up, when I push forward I also push back. I don’t move. I push myself to my limits, but for no clear defined reason. I’m late on my assignment. Another day wasted, I’ll work in the morning, at least I hope to. Goodnight!