If someone sat down with me one day and said, “hey, yo, what’s your passion” I’d probably numb out and bullshit. Lie would follow lie, and I’d hide behind a deftly but hastily crafted exposition of a life I’ve never lived. I have no answer now. It’s funny enough because I can be so placated by my life in a way that starts to breed self-discouragement on a level I’m not even aware of. It’s like it’s breaking my spirit in the most dastardly underhanded way. It’s like I support it. I can sit here for ridiculous amounts of time, and if I track what it is that I’m doing and what it is that I’ve done, I’d be sick to my stomach. Yes, I’d get physically sick. What breaks me out of these trances, however, are just things I come across while browsing…we gets me all excited yet washed in uncertainty, dissatisfaction, and anxiety is people’s sense of purpose. Like, they trudge through so much shit and learn so much about life because they know what they want and they’re working to get it.
I think somewhere in my mind I have an inkling of what it is that I truly want. If I were to die right now and in the moments of my death I had to explain my life and my actions to a shocked and increasingly hysterical yet lightly depressed version of me, Continue reading