Not too frequently, for I find it a mostly inconclusive portion of the whole of reverie, I do wonder about choices, motivations, and what they tell of the nature of those who draw them – those hints about us all.
What a waste it is to unduly hypothesize! Only because giving too much thought to something, shall mean that whatever we’re conjuring, we’re probably dubious about. The more we need to indulge in a frenetic thought, the less of ourselves will come reflected on the fruit of said effort, isn’t it?
We rationalize, many times, to convince ourselves that it’s also honorable to choose to want not what we wish, but to lean otherwise instead – in such cases, we opt to think for the wrong reason – and go a way not ours but someone else’s.
But is it so cowardly, however, to ponder and decide for the good of someone who’s not our sole selves? For the fixed result, to profess the linear answer which covers a bank of questions which is also always so puddlish (as in moribund), and consequently opaque?
I can accept there’s a handful of merit to that weak stance; there’s perhaps even struggle to those who are willing to forfeit themselves for whatever they respect more than their own blissfulness.
Truth is the world doesn’t expect much innovation from anyone, nobody desires to meet the change one can become… nobody except yourself.
Eventually, others might come to terms with wanting either you or the outcome of you, as long as there’s swift completion to your transformation. But nobody cheers for the process of such making of a person, of one going out and dreaming of being his own dream someday.
Others, they are monopolizers of the neighbouring action, turning down startling volumes and unpleasant reverberations. That’s why I’m often revolted by the idea of being a prisoner of a life that’s not my own, and for that, I might’ve chosen to inhale self-centeredly, and ever more I try to do so as the years run me over.
It’s a wheel that must maintain its spin, may one simply be secure of his rationale to keep it always steady and seldom, if ever, repentful.
And it’s not a crime this knowledge… it’s, well, selfish of me, I presume. I’ve been called that, and that’s when I know I’m making sensible use of my dues and innermost potential, and moving further away from an arranged and much more civil life – a life they want from you when you don’t know nor want a thing for yourself.