I don't feel like the passing
time has left me with the experiences I should have earned. I've only spent a short time exploring what I know to be mine in this world and have found nothing because of it. There is so much
more to being alive than just eating, breathing, interacting, sleeping. Time passes with a harsh carelessness and no one is going to stop everything and wait for you to catch up. The days I spend silently prodding the recesses of my mind looking for that one last corner of memory that has eluded my incessant
story telling, are the days I cherish the most.
A warm spring day in a park next to fountains built to
commemorate a time of little significance.
I look across a crowded room of people who know nothing of what I've done or where I've
been. Some of them can piece together parts of my life and form a
picture, but who can tell the whole story but me? I wonder how well anyone really knows me. My parents have missed so much since I left their
house at 18. I've had the occasional girlfriend, but I don't even pretend that their ranks have discovered my secrets. I like to think that someday I'll write about my story. Maybe someone will find it interesting. The one true reward would be that someone would find
inspiration in it. I'm not an
astronaut, a
saint, or even a
great thinker. What I am, is someone who has lived life in a way many people have never imagined. I've found that life may be fragile and precious and all of the other cliches, but the one cliche I've found to be most true is that life is not easy. If life were devoid of challenge I don't know that I would see a reason to even bother trying.