Time: the great cannabalizer and finisher of all things.
I say this neither stoically nor nihilisitically, but merely to note that there is no more powerful force in life.
I never imagined being a man, being mature, and reaching this age in my life – this epoch in time, between possibility and life.
I know who I am, I know what I want, and, in the game of life, I seek to be the hero.
My heroes live in the pages of books, and my story in my own.
I want to write and in writing become the hero I am destined to be: the writer, the man, the romantic – all that I am.
And all I need is time, this most precious of assets; for I intend to use mine as wisely as I can.
I have, thankfully, gained an immense amount of perspective on my life this past year.
With the passing of my dad I have grabbed hold of my mortality, owning up to the fact I too will go the way of all flesh.
This is no light fact; it is indeed nothing short of realizing life’s true value.
Life is not something to simply be endured, something that must merely come to pass. Yes, I recongnize life entails suffering. But there’s something purposeful to life, if you can awake to it.
It’s that thing that makes you tick. And no, this is not a motivational thing; I desire only to communicate the importance of living a life with meaning. Because, when you do that, when you have a meaningful life, you start to connect the dots, and – for lack of a better phrase – everything becomes spiritual; meaning, synchronicity, and growth become constant, and inner-voice comes through clearly and resolutely.
Why were you born? Seriously, fucking ask yourself. You know. You know why. You know what your dream is.
But maybe you’re afraid. Afraid of life. Afraid to admit to yourself the things you truly want. Afraid to even try.
I know I was.