I often think that that could have easily been me boxed up on the way out, family glazed over. People would bring suits to work and go out drinking on my behalf. They would make arrangements and discuss the events for days to follow probably mixing up the details. Everyone would try to muster up some kind of story that they may have shared with me.
I didn’t know you, and I don’t have a story about our times shared. But I can’t help but feel connected to you now. I wish there could have been some other method; why couldn’t I have known you when you were here? The connection ends with me. The cold ground does not conduct this energy. My heart feels hooked, caught on something that no longer exists, and I never make it ashore.
The best way I can think to honor the relationships with those who are lost is to focus on living my life to the fullest. Although I feel as if I've maybe lost sight of what is important. My heart beats; my blood pumps; it is clear I am alive, but I am cold. How is it that the older we get, the more lost we become? I remember when everything was electric. I used to know exactly who I was and what I wanted in life, what I valued in life. I was inspired. “Unfiguring” it all out, we drift further and further away from our passions. You only live once, and you never know when your time might be up. Be a minimalist, and you will have more in life than you could ever imagine.
What is there really ever to be upset about? I am alive and everything else is just noise. Money is just paper—a thing, and things are just things. I am attempting to part with this feeling that I need to carve a place in this society for myself. I don’t need to fit in nicely; boxes are for the dead. I want to focus on connections and experiences. What can I make, not what can I buy. What can I feel not what can I have. What can I share not what can I get. I’d like to balance my ambition with a certain contentness about where I am, who I am. I really just want to just be. It is time to stop procrastinating and to start being.
