We humans know lots of things. Do we act on them?
If we did, I wouldn’t be writing this article.
Perfect times don’t exist.
Perfect moments, maybe. Golden sunlight mixes with laughter and for a moment everything is pure bliss. Then the moment passes, as it always does and we’re back with both feet solidly on the ground as shadows and wistfulness close in.
As a child, my father often told me ‘people are important too.’
To be fair, he still reminds me from time to time.
I know people are important, don’t get me wrong. But people can’t be categorized on a list and checked off when done while I move on to the next thing. Hence, sometimes, I tend to…umm *coughs* forget about them.
Failing hurts. We try. We give everything we have and it’s not enough. Or we try and get it wrong. The best intentions and efforts don’t guarantee us success.
It’s life. We’re going to fail.
Don’t take life for granted. Not the music or the lights or the hundred tiny threads weaving through every day.
I was going to tie the thought of taking life for granted with Christmas and the holidays. Except my attempt at that turned into a rambling intro with no point. So, skipping to the point of all this…how do we treat what we love?
Nothing is ever enough. The money we make. The respect we earn. The satisfaction in a job well done. No matter the tears and sweat we pour into ourselves, into others, and into projects—in the end we are left, surrounded by all we have gained and wondering, is there ever a point where we will be satisfied with what life?
Each mask hides another,
Veil on tear-stained veil.
Each tattered page of my heart
Inked and stamped and sealed
In the shadows of my mind.
Why do we write? Authors put hours and weeks and months into a project. They pound their head against walls, or sometimes against keyboards to see if any of the gibberish that results has merit.
And for what?
A few dollars, perhaps? A glowing review? Someone somewhere kinda knowing their name?