mundane.
a seductress of repetitious thought, action or deed. the day-to-day we do because we do.
and the do is exhausting. the square in which we hold ourselves suffocates our will to breathe. to explore. to change.
repetition itself is not the crime. it is the otiose behind it that drowns the self.
the otiose that causes one to stop thinking as one. but billows behind the thoughts and repition of others.
here i sit staring at the credits scroll into the black abyss. zoning out, will you. envisioning a life that is not mine. the life of a teenager who broke away from her family, friends, country to explore the world on her own. with her sailboat. like many documentaries that i parade on, i am overwhelmed with the idea that this could be my life.
but isn’t.
not yet.
maybe never.
maybe soon.
i find myself wondering when that time will come when i break out of the mundane, the cycle, the world of safety, and jump into a sailboat.
back onto the sailboat.
because i have been seated on its perch before.
if i had never been, i wouldn’t know that i wasn’t any longer.
i shut the laptop. pick up a book and immerse myself into another’s story of running against the wind of expectation, thought, routine.
now two sources on this gloomy sunday reminding me that life happens with or without my involvement. if i chose to remain in the cycle of mundane in order to achieve a false light or hope. that is my fault. not God’s. not the universe. not fate.
it’s mine.
i have two choices.
and not very much time.
