There is a creature within me—a restless, wild thing that craves more. It yearns for a life rich with meaning and purpose, a life that feels like it’s bursting at the seams with passion and authenticity. But often, I find myself grappling with the feeling of falling short, as if I’ve been given a map to a treasure but lost the compass. The guilt creeps in, a quiet whisper in the back of my mind, reminding me of the unfulfilled potential, the dreams left unrealized. It’s a gnawing feeling, this sense that perhaps I was meant for something greater, something more than the mundane rhythm of everyday life.
And perhaps maybe I am all that in another life, but not this one. In this life, my longing feels like an echo in a vast, empty room, reaching out but never quite touching anything solid. It comes to me in fleeting whispers—glimpses of it in small, almost trivial gestures.
I find myself standing at the edge of my own existence, wondering if the fault lies within me—if it’s my own flawed, creaking self that’s unable to grasp the life I desire. Or is it the dream itself that’s invisible, an elusive wisp that slips through my fingers every time I try to hold on?
The more time I waste grappling with my own loathing, the tighter the doors of possibility seal, the heavier they become until I am no longer able to push them ajar once more. Suddenly I am my own worst enemy in this endless race against the clock.
The creature inside me roars with frustration, wanting to break free, and it’s voice within me pleads that maybe, just maybe, I can still find my way. It whispers that the life I yearn for, the life rich with meaning and purpose, is not entirely out of reach. It may not come in the grand, sweeping gestures I imagined, but perhaps in the small, everyday moments that I often overlook.
For what an injustice it would be to the soul to waste away a lifetime grasping for what is not there, to fret over the possibility of not living all the dreams I yearn for so desperately. For the time will pass either way, so why not cherish the fleeting moments that fill the soul with a currency more lucrative than that of coin?
So, I take a deep breath and step away from the edge, choosing to believe in the potential of my own story, the story within this lifeline.
For in this lifeline, I can still be an explorer of ideas, diving into the depths of knowledge and experience with unbridled curiosity. Or perhaps an artist, painting my soul onto the canvas, each brushstroke a testament to my existence. The possibilities are still there, though maybe not as grand, but yet there are there. Each door kept ajar for when I choose to revisit it. Each decision, each moment of living in the presence, an opportunity to craft a life that is uniquely mine, filled with meaning and authenticity.
For every morning I can wake and be embraced by the boundless potential of this life if I only chose to live for what is now and not fret over what is not.
Stunningly beautiful writing. Thank you. I hope you find the conviction in your own words which you so dexterously impart unto your readers <3