A small Meaning (Meaning Everything)

Lately it seems that everyday I am surprised by how little I know, how wrong I have been and will continue to be, and how much of a dichotomy the human experience is. Preparing for the world is such a demanding task and the toll only becomes higher as we mature and face the battles of trying to live a life with meaning. Even deciphering the meaning is a task that many better men and women have failed at. It is hard to not feel small and overrun by the forces that mount before me; from corporate drudgery, environmental disasters, failing education, poverty; and; friends losing grip, family members aging and passing, feeding myself … Even the daily hustle of waking up and shuffling through a day when it seems there is no light and that all the words I comfort my soul with are just as cheap as porn dialogue belittles me. You have to remind yourself of simple joys, at least I do. Moments when a stranger or friend said the right word, a small and beautiful present, and the strange perplexing wonder that existing is. I will never be the person I wish to become. I hope I never do. That sense of striving to better myself keeps me riveted to a future that is both daunting and exciting. I fail so often that I can no longer worry about what it means. Still, fear is my constant companion. Fear that I am not going to be loved, fear that I will fail someone I love, fear of failing my convictions. Maybe most of it is a transient smile and fading memories of friends and lovers; just a haphazard confusion of dust and gas. It is possible. I’ll accept anything as possible. It is in the execution of what is possible that I find my executioner. Too many negative thoughts, not the right gene structure, not enough time, man-power, ideas and so on. Trying to make sense of this is asking too much. Still, I would like to believe, that that does not give us a license to merely get by. Time for me and you and everyone is so frantically uncaring that without a question, a hunger, or a curiosity, it will be just as Thomas Hobbes once said, “Short, nasty and brutish.” I do hope I will love someone new, that maybe they will love me, that I can learn how to dance, to fulfill a lover’s desire, to build a home, to bake cakes, to shoot a gun … This is not a career path, not a life-plan with a 401k retirement plan. I know that. I just would suffocate any other way. I wish I could do it all. I know I never will. Even now I fail to convey to my friends and family and teachers their worth. Even now I waste time knowing how precious it is. I use Styrofoam, don’t make conscious decisions, and fall in line. So many days and nights have passed in a hopeless stupor. And many more undoubtedly will. But I keep moving, knowing how futile and small and unsuccessful I am and will be. It is all I have. That and the strange grace of people who help me along the way, despite what is my obvious undeserving person; But even that I don’t always believe. I don’t think there is one thing I can produce that deserves unfailing belief. For me I would not see the point to it. Once you discover a treasure you have nothing left to look for. Just meeting life is enough, even if it is my small cruelties, my warm conversations, my past indiscretions, my honest moments, and with hope, a moment where I give something of worth to someone else.