I’ve been wanting to write a post for a while now, but recently I’ve been wondering how much of what I write is still reflective of what I need to express? At times my blog reminds me of the cries of a frustrated nobody that is pleading for sanity to prevail, but there is no one around to hear those pleas. I miss taking the time to ramble about my quirks and my observations, and it shows in the level of clutter that I carry with me these days. The clutter distracts me from the point of unrelated conversations and often ends with me responding on issues that would otherwise not even interest me.
I need to return to that place of indulgence where my thoughts flow from clutter to fingertips without prompting, and my mental clarity restores without effort. Those moments of reflection are often the first to be sacrificed when the clutter becomes overwhelming. However, although seemingly counter-intuitive, it’s exactly those moments of reflection that should enjoy priority as the clutter increases. I can’t help my nature as much as I should, hence I find myself prone to responding to the inane urgencies of the day while often being distracted from the important. I suspect this trait alone firmly establishes me as one of the masses.
Being one of the masses, and increasingly realising exactly how common I am, further creates doubt in my mind about whether or not I have anything meaningful to share. Even just discussing or mentioning that thought leaves me feeling as if it’s a cloaked attempt at soliciting pity or affirmation. It isn’t. I never doubt that there is a greater purpose that I am able to fulfil, but my ability to identify it and apply myself towards its fulfilment is always elusive because of the clutter.
This is an incomplete post, which is reflective of the incomplete thought process that spawned it.