The oddities of life continue to befuddle me. The restlessness intensifies each day, and the feeling of incompleteness resonates deeper than before. The most bewildering of all is the sense that my chosen path is lacking in fulfilment. But not entirely.
The nagging of responsibility whines on in the background and creates a backdrop of morbidity to most endeavours, followed by the incessant cacophony of clutter from the ones who live in denial while imposing the consequences of their chosen obliviousness on those who feel responsible to buffer their fall.
The mediocrity that has grown pervasive is only exceeded in intelligence and brilliance by the creative humour encountered through online reels of mishaps and caricatures of the monotony of humanness when such humanness has been left unattended.
Cryptic clues leave bread crumbs for the blind, and serve only as a further reinforcement of the isolation in which I find myself. Being part of a greater whole continues to escape me, even though there may be a solitary soul, or two, that consider me a part of their whole.
That’s the conundrum of life that plagues many. The perception of exclusion because of the absence of understanding. I’m not sure if it is a generosity of spirit on the part of those who embrace without understanding, or is it a desperation for inclusion that drives such acceptance.
I project on the world’s intentions that which would have been my motivation to act in the way that they do, and it fills me with angst to realise that I am more at odds with life than I ever imagined. To criticise or coach from the sidelines is easy, if there is no demand for offering solutions to accompany your input.
I demand such solutions of myself, or else I remain silent. Until one comes along and projects their assumptions of intent on me for my silence, or for my volunteering of observations about my own reality, culminating in a vent of venom that they’ve been fermenting in their chest for too long.
I once set out to be understood, followed by an extended period of seeking to understand instead, only to be followed by a period of being in limbo between the two. Which phase will be the defining outcome of my life remains to be seen.
To be, to do, or to live. They each seem equally exclusive when the insanity clouds the clarity of the etches of the silver lining that escapes us in our search for rainbows and unicorns. The search is tedious and ever unfulfilling. The trial of awareness is one that prompts action while reminding us of our insignificance against the vastness of the human struggle.
Perhaps in that is the solace that I should take when feeling compelled to act, or to overcome. Or even to simply exist. I must tame my expectations to be tampered by the realisation of the limited impact that I have on the world around me. Any reach beyond that point is a goal too far, and a distraction too great.
Hence, the pursuit of leadership is a foolhardy one of self-imposed strife, as we endeavour with seeming sincerity, to alleviate the plights of those who echo the plights within us that we wish one would seek to alleviate. Alas, there are none who look close enough to realise the desperation behind the plea of the uplifter, or the do-gooder, given how desperate each are for another to lighten their load as they journey through the desolation and distractions of a life too brutal to ignore, but too endearing to abandon.