My Writings

Wasteful Years

The sun of my wasteful years is setting. Let there be no tomorrow for my squandering. It is as if I am drinking from an ever smaller glass, it is as if my world is shrinking just as I began exploring it. A palpable feeling.

But there is a sweet new pride in working at my fullest potential, as diminished as it seems, like an angry wave crashing, again and again, against the rocks of my own limitations – in time, perhaps, even making new space for my curiosity to fill.

There is a grand truth in simplicity, stripped of all unnecessary layers, and yet it took years to see it. I must have had too much strength, to be able to discard it so freely. To indulge in the luxuries of inaction and spreading my forces thin, fighting many wars, each time against a different enemy.

My actions seem illogical, but they are dictated by the very essence of my being, as it was at the time when I decided to take them – a thin slice of the history of my evolving character. I see the limitations placed on my former selves, imposed by life and the traps that I laid for myself.

To dig the same hole, even down to the center of the earth, is something that I have yet to do. But, you see, I was looking for the same truth in many places, each time coming closer, but it always eluded me. I have seen others, forging ahead in the only direction that they know, never questioning what lies beneath the surface of their understanding.

But I reached my very own depths, my soul, as heavy as a rock, slowly bringing me further down. That is why I am lost. To be able to discover one’s own nature is a luxury. Now it seems that the fat, indulgent years of dedicated self-exploration are dying, making way to learning on the run, writing down essential truths on my knee, briefly stopping, just to catch my breath.

Thus I have become simpler, intentionally blind to the possibilities.

Simplicity is a virtue in itself.

In my quest for self-actualization, surely, I must pursue it.

Otherwise, I will not be complete.


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