It's 2014. 2014. We're nearly as close to 1980 as we are to 2050. Just let that sink in for a bit.
While our inevitable spiral towards the great mystery that is the future continues, I'd be amiss not to at least least a few words on the year that was. It's always hard looking back on a year and judging it either wholly good or bad. Each year seems to flash by in but a second, and yet when you examine it in its entirety, you see that there actually was a lot crammed in there! So while there may be great sadness, there will undoubtedly be great joy as well. And even if it were all terrible from January to December, as you know from my previous posts, hardship is what builds you as a person, and it is in those hard years that you truly live.
Last year I feel I did not truly live. There were moments of wonder and new beginnings, but for much of the year I felt dormant. Not happily content, but just… as if I was barely existing. Drifting from one experience to another, with hardly a notable moment between.
This year, that is changing. I didn't even wait for New Years and its cliche resolutions; I started at the end of December. Focus. Motivation. Happiness. I know it sounds like a tired routine from a freshly-brainwashed optimist, but I've already felt a change. I was lying in bed one night and I saw it all roll out before me. My life. Before me as I stared up into the dark ceiling. Each day ticking away. Tick. Tick. Tick. Every second closer to my death. You can't change it. As they say, death and taxes. In that very moment I was scared. Like I was on this terrifying rollercoaster (I love rollercoasters, but the very thought of this one was spine-chilling), that I could neither stop nor avoid. Every moment in my life whizzing by as I sat on the seat, screaming until the bitter end. I was not afraid because of death, but because of how I was merely a passenger in my own life. Watching it tick tick tick away as if it were on a petrol metre just beside me. Each day sitting around doing nothing, another tick of the pump emptying into oblivion.
Scary. It's hard, but I'm changing this. Breaking habits and stopping the negative thoughts that come with living in such a dormant state is certainly hard, but I'm doing it. I don't want to look up and see I've reached the end of the roller coaster, and feel that sadness I know will come if I look back and see I've never really taken part in life.
The Winner's Bible. I've been reading this book, and I'll tell you what, it's one of the most intense and amazing books out there to help you out if you're feeling anything like I am. I'm about a third through, and already I'm waking up feeling more and more focused. If 2013 was the year of absence, then I know 2014 will surely be the beginning of the lifetime of experience and happiness I know I'll find.
So what of 2013? Highlights would definitely have to include my trip to Singapore. Sports victories. Dates (those which didn't work, and those that… did). Getting on TV. Making new friends, even if it meant saying goodbye to many who I realized weren't. Kittens and all their trials and joys. Probably just as many that I've forgotten as well.
Well, here's to a great 2014. May it forever be the year I re-began my life. I hope it brings as much joy to you as it already has to me. There's something about a New Year that says you can do anything, be anything and no matter what happened last year, there is always a new day...
Showing posts with label Time. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Time. Show all posts
Friday, 3 January 2014
Friday, 27 July 2012
Call Denied
This post is probably best read whilst listening to a loop of 'Best Laid Plans' by James Blunt. I know I certainly was listening to it while I was writing! Words sum up perfectly everything I'm trying to convey through this post. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_jWW0-Run_g
You could say this post was a direct result of the Blog Roll having 'a calling' as one of their current topics. You could say this was an easy post to write. It would all be a lie. I've written and re-written this opening paragraph a dozen times already, unsure how to word it, and to be honest, I'm not even sure this is what I'll end up with.
A reminder of a past sorrow came back today, and I needed to let it out on paper for reasons unknown. Sometimes sadness is too great to be kept inside, and when you haven't put brush to canvas for far too long, keyboard to pixel is often the best option for one's sanity. The guise of 'a calling' was probably the only way to deliver my thoughts cohesively, but really, it's nothing more than a slim cover for the hurt that I'm feeling right now. The only real truth I know that can sum up this post is that the one calling I want, no, need, of all the others, is the very one I can never have.
Have you ever wanted something so unwaveringly that every second you don't have it feels like you are strapped to a torture chamber, enduring the most heinous debasement, endlessly? You struggle at first, screaming and thrashing, disbelieving that such a terrible fate can be befalling you. Then after a while, you break. In the back of your mind you'll keep the desire to escape alive, but your body slowly goes through the motions of acceptance. Before long, even your mind has begun to fade and the dream of what you once had are long distant and clouded.
It's dramatic for certain, but it is exactly how I feel when I think about my two cousins. They're aged, well, I don't really know any more. The last time I saw them was many years ago. Boy have those years flown, each a measurable monument to the growing gap in my life caused by their absence. For reasons too complex and lengthy to dissect, I am no longer allowed to see them. You could say my relationship with them was nothing more than a chess pawn in the wrong place at the wrong time, and the decision made only to hurt and alienate.
I remember the very first time I held my cousins. The first when I was about eight perhaps, the other when I was older. I've never loved another being so much. I don't plan on having children for many years yet, but I'd imagine the feeling of love and caring I felt for them in that instant is as close as I'll get until such a time. From that first moment on, I knew it was my job to be their guardian in life. A role model and protector. We grew extremely close. I'd write them notes on how to be better people and look after themselves. I'd spend hours playing with them, teaching them, although I probably was the one who learnt the most out of the relationship; they matured me as a person in ways that nothing other than responsibility can teach. I'd never have thought that I'd know the day when I'd barely remember their faces, let alone struggle to imagine what they would look like now. The only thing I have left is that feeling of responsibility and love. The one that resides in me still from my time with them. A small nugget that keeps me going.
The goal has always been pure. To be there for them and to be a positive force in their lives. Nothing remains now but memories and this faint, nostalgic will I have to still be there for them, despite the miles and years that have transpired between us. You could label it a calling. An unbreakable bond I feel to my role as their guardian. I bide my time, but through the fog of positivity and hopefulness, I know it will be many years before I'll ever seen them again. When they're old enough to come find me of their own free will. Many years, many chances I've missed to be there for them.
I sometimes lie awake at night and sit watching a passing car's lights dance on the ceiling, thinking about how their day has been. What young men they are turning into. Sometimes I get sad. Thinking of the day they were bullied and I wasn't there to pass on the experience and reassurance I learnt when at school. Or when their pet dies and they need someone to confide in. Sometimes I get angry. Angry at the situation. Angry at how it's not fair. Angry at it all. Other times I roll over and go to sleep, apathetic in the knowledge that no matter how I try, we'll be apart.
When I was younger, although it still happens from time to time now, I used to get extremely excited when waiting for something. Not a thing or treat, but something to return. Our back door would be difficult to open, so dad would set me the task of opening it when he returned with another load of shopping from the car, or an item from the garage. I'd sit there, staring at the door, jiggling with excitement. I wouldn't know when or how or what would come through the door. But I knew it was coming. That moment of realization when everything slots into place, and the lifetime you felt standing there crashes into the present and you can see it all. The excitement I will feel, when finally I can fulfill the promise I made to my baby cousins, does dilute the weight I bear of the separation, making it easier to digest. Every day I carry on living, but in the back of my mind there is that metaphorical egg timer I know is ticking. I don't know when it will go off, but I know the day will come. And when it does, I'll be able to resume the calling held on pause for so long.
You may hear me say this a lot - and it's only because it is entirely true and something I live my life by - but you only have one life. One tiny blink of a life to make the changes and do the things you have to do. I have a large list. An infinite list that I know will never be completed. It pains me that the biggest regret, the biggest failure, happens to be the one thing I can truly call 'a calling'. The one thing I want more than anything.
One day, I think to myself whenever something reminds me of them. One day. And then I carry on living. I feel guilty, but I try and convince myself that when they find me, if they even still remember me, that they'll know I tried my hardest and forgive me.
One day...
Well! Hope nobody has hung themselves yet lol. Just had to get that off my chest. Two birds with one stone and all that jazz...
You could say this post was a direct result of the Blog Roll having 'a calling' as one of their current topics. You could say this was an easy post to write. It would all be a lie. I've written and re-written this opening paragraph a dozen times already, unsure how to word it, and to be honest, I'm not even sure this is what I'll end up with.
A reminder of a past sorrow came back today, and I needed to let it out on paper for reasons unknown. Sometimes sadness is too great to be kept inside, and when you haven't put brush to canvas for far too long, keyboard to pixel is often the best option for one's sanity. The guise of 'a calling' was probably the only way to deliver my thoughts cohesively, but really, it's nothing more than a slim cover for the hurt that I'm feeling right now. The only real truth I know that can sum up this post is that the one calling I want, no, need, of all the others, is the very one I can never have.
Have you ever wanted something so unwaveringly that every second you don't have it feels like you are strapped to a torture chamber, enduring the most heinous debasement, endlessly? You struggle at first, screaming and thrashing, disbelieving that such a terrible fate can be befalling you. Then after a while, you break. In the back of your mind you'll keep the desire to escape alive, but your body slowly goes through the motions of acceptance. Before long, even your mind has begun to fade and the dream of what you once had are long distant and clouded.
It's dramatic for certain, but it is exactly how I feel when I think about my two cousins. They're aged, well, I don't really know any more. The last time I saw them was many years ago. Boy have those years flown, each a measurable monument to the growing gap in my life caused by their absence. For reasons too complex and lengthy to dissect, I am no longer allowed to see them. You could say my relationship with them was nothing more than a chess pawn in the wrong place at the wrong time, and the decision made only to hurt and alienate.
I remember the very first time I held my cousins. The first when I was about eight perhaps, the other when I was older. I've never loved another being so much. I don't plan on having children for many years yet, but I'd imagine the feeling of love and caring I felt for them in that instant is as close as I'll get until such a time. From that first moment on, I knew it was my job to be their guardian in life. A role model and protector. We grew extremely close. I'd write them notes on how to be better people and look after themselves. I'd spend hours playing with them, teaching them, although I probably was the one who learnt the most out of the relationship; they matured me as a person in ways that nothing other than responsibility can teach. I'd never have thought that I'd know the day when I'd barely remember their faces, let alone struggle to imagine what they would look like now. The only thing I have left is that feeling of responsibility and love. The one that resides in me still from my time with them. A small nugget that keeps me going.
The goal has always been pure. To be there for them and to be a positive force in their lives. Nothing remains now but memories and this faint, nostalgic will I have to still be there for them, despite the miles and years that have transpired between us. You could label it a calling. An unbreakable bond I feel to my role as their guardian. I bide my time, but through the fog of positivity and hopefulness, I know it will be many years before I'll ever seen them again. When they're old enough to come find me of their own free will. Many years, many chances I've missed to be there for them.
I sometimes lie awake at night and sit watching a passing car's lights dance on the ceiling, thinking about how their day has been. What young men they are turning into. Sometimes I get sad. Thinking of the day they were bullied and I wasn't there to pass on the experience and reassurance I learnt when at school. Or when their pet dies and they need someone to confide in. Sometimes I get angry. Angry at the situation. Angry at how it's not fair. Angry at it all. Other times I roll over and go to sleep, apathetic in the knowledge that no matter how I try, we'll be apart.
When I was younger, although it still happens from time to time now, I used to get extremely excited when waiting for something. Not a thing or treat, but something to return. Our back door would be difficult to open, so dad would set me the task of opening it when he returned with another load of shopping from the car, or an item from the garage. I'd sit there, staring at the door, jiggling with excitement. I wouldn't know when or how or what would come through the door. But I knew it was coming. That moment of realization when everything slots into place, and the lifetime you felt standing there crashes into the present and you can see it all. The excitement I will feel, when finally I can fulfill the promise I made to my baby cousins, does dilute the weight I bear of the separation, making it easier to digest. Every day I carry on living, but in the back of my mind there is that metaphorical egg timer I know is ticking. I don't know when it will go off, but I know the day will come. And when it does, I'll be able to resume the calling held on pause for so long.
You may hear me say this a lot - and it's only because it is entirely true and something I live my life by - but you only have one life. One tiny blink of a life to make the changes and do the things you have to do. I have a large list. An infinite list that I know will never be completed. It pains me that the biggest regret, the biggest failure, happens to be the one thing I can truly call 'a calling'. The one thing I want more than anything.
One day, I think to myself whenever something reminds me of them. One day. And then I carry on living. I feel guilty, but I try and convince myself that when they find me, if they even still remember me, that they'll know I tried my hardest and forgive me.
One day...
Well! Hope nobody has hung themselves yet lol. Just had to get that off my chest. Two birds with one stone and all that jazz...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)