Sometimes I try and pretend this blog isn't here. That's not easy at times when I'm the administrator responsible for Blogs. It's not that I don't like the concept of blogging, nor that I think there is something particularly wrong with mine. It's just that I'd rather wish these words weren't here. The same way I wish a lot of the words in my actual, private, personal diary weren't there either.
I think the only thing that could be more painful than thinking about the most difficult moments in your life, is reading your actual thoughts as you were going through them. The inevitable urge we get to contrast those thoughts and feelings with where we are today, to try and measure our progress (or lack of it) and the sense of loss at all the wasted hours in between.
I used to believe that hardship was a state through which our characters were forged into something better. That sometimes, for us to move forward, to make progress on the journey of life, we had to be willing to lose everything, because only by losing everything can we start again.
As a naive twenty-one year old, in love for the first time, I remember sitting in a bath talking to my first girlfriend about the ebbs and flows of life. The troughs of sadness, broken by the peaks of joy, like a sine-wave flowing through the emotional current of our lives. I'm not sure if most people relate to this, or if it's classified as some sort of emotional disorder.
In those younger days, when optimism was dripping off the end of every thought, it wasn't life that was easier, it was just easier to deal with life.
I think the only thing that could be more painful than thinking about the most difficult moments in your life, is reading your actual thoughts as you were going through them. The inevitable urge we get to contrast those thoughts and feelings with where we are today, to try and measure our progress (or lack of it) and the sense of loss at all the wasted hours in between.
I used to believe that hardship was a state through which our characters were forged into something better. That sometimes, for us to move forward, to make progress on the journey of life, we had to be willing to lose everything, because only by losing everything can we start again.
As a naive twenty-one year old, in love for the first time, I remember sitting in a bath talking to my first girlfriend about the ebbs and flows of life. The troughs of sadness, broken by the peaks of joy, like a sine-wave flowing through the emotional current of our lives. I'm not sure if most people relate to this, or if it's classified as some sort of emotional disorder.
In those younger days, when optimism was dripping off the end of every thought, it wasn't life that was easier, it was just easier to deal with life.
