“I wouldn’t know where to start” was the first thought that came to mind when I contemplated on writing about this season of my life. My words hide at the edge of my mind, running away laughing whenever I try getting close to them. I struggle to think of any clever aphorisms. I have spent hours staring at the blank page desperately trying to coax my pen to moonwalk within its margins. I have almost just let my pen fall asleep on the page.
I don’t know where to start. However I will start with where I am today.
I feel like I am in the fourth quarter, steadily watching the clock tick. I am in a place filled with possibility and uncertainty. Things are within my grasp, yet in some moments they feel far away. I’ve had insightful and fulfilling conversations with my Dad that brought us even closer. I’ve taken walks with the Jacaranda trees and gotten high of the intoxicating beauty of their purple haze. I‘ve sat on bar stools nursing my doubts and frustrations, yearning for some feedback from all these words I have written. My questions outnumbered the answers (they always will). Philosophy ceased to be a place of intellectual joy, stimulation and respite. Instead it became a world that compounded the absolute futility and redundancy of most of this routine we have chosen to call life.
Recidivism reared its ugly head and for a brief moment it seemed like I would succumb to cynicism. Then I remembered that although these shoulders can carry many things, they weren’t built to bear the burden of defeat before I’ve even embarked on the journey. I reminded myself that I would be a fool to surrender when I’m still a contender. I chose to embrace my child like naiveté and optimism.
In order for someone like me to function I don’t need many things. I once thought I did. I thought I needed things like brand name clothes, and being on the guest list to the most exclusive clubs. However these are all superfluous things man stitches out of greed, emptiness and deception. Any gratification they could offer us is destroyed by the price we’re willing to pay to attain them. Consequently these things no longer contribute to my level of happiness – if anything they can detract and deduct from it.
In this past year I have spent more time with my family than I did in the ten years prior. We have laughed, cried and fought. It’s been both beautiful and memorable. In this season of my life I am learning that it is the little things that matter. That time is the only real luxury. And time with loved ones is as luxurious as it gets. In this season I finally worked up the courage to pursue my passion for writing. I have tried to write more or less consistently. Writing has allowed me to pull myself closer to myself. Throughout all the ups and downs in this season my pen is the only thing that keeps me sane.
As the season of my life slowly draws to an end I feel empowered by the stubborn belief that things can only get better. As I ready myself for the nest season in my life I have the confidence that I know what matters the most to me. That all I need is love, family, friends so loyal that they become family and my pen.