Alliterative Alphabet

Alliterative allegories arising all around. Amazingly appropriate and amply abound. Becoming bemused but barely beginning. Beseechingly brave bearing banter brimming. Convincingly cunning, cattily contained. Congruous creation, creativity claimed. Daringly derisive, decidedly dastardly. Doing deeds dumbly, defining disastrously. Emitting erroneous, errant epiphanies. Excluding exceptional eminent extremities. Flourishingly fervent formations, finding fantastic flummoxations. Greatly gregarious, gumption galore. Grippingly grandiose, greatly grandeur. Haughtily hyperbolic hence highly hysterical. Hypothetically humane, horrendously hypocritical. Incredibly imaginative, immensely irrational. Impossibly intentional, immeasurably incomprehensible. Justifiably jovial juggernaut job. Judicious juxtaposition. Kept kindly kibitzing. Klutziness kudos. Luminescent lethargy, lies lately literarily lax. Limpid lore, leaving likely lifeless. Monumental moments, minimalist minutiae. Morose melancholy, majestically musing. Nightly, non-chalant, needing nothing new. Nevertheless, noting necessary nullifications. Otherwise obtaining objective offenses, obviously operating optional occurrences. Out of obtuseness one only owes obligation. Perhaps pretty poor pontification. Probably pondering practitioners purpose, preferably pillaging pensioners plumage. Quietly quipping quite quickly. Queerly questioning quirky. Really ridiculous, rarely reasonable. Raunchily reporting rhymes reconciliation. Sometimes suspicious, simply sensational. Superfluous sacrament, super substantial. Truantly trying, tumultuous trepidation. Truncated turbulence, tenacious terrorism. Understandingly underwhelming, until undeveloped upsides uncover. Uptake undulation, unfathomably unconditional. Very vivacious, vibrantly virile. Viable vernacular, virally verified. Within wonderment we willingly wish. We want waning wanderlust, will welcome wayfarers. Xickovit xeroflulogitis, xenoepist xenocide. Yet yonder yearns yuppier yabber. Youthful yapness – yare, yieldless. Zaftig zaminders, zaniest zizz.

The Yellow Walls

I sit in silence and stare at the yellow walls around me. Four walls, a stark, unfriendly mustard shade. I glance away from their bleakness and down at my intertwined fingers. My hands clasp tightly together and I watch as the knuckles turn white. I release my grip and a long breath escapes my lungs in a heavy sigh. My hands part to clasp around my folded legs. I draw them in close to my body for comfort and once again glance around at the yellow walls encasing me. Nothing stares back, only emptiness. The room seems to mock me. Physically removing me from any outside influences while mentally forcing me to imagine far more dangerous things.. I quickly pull my thoughts away from the dark area. I don’t wish to descend to those recesses of my mind. Many nights have dragged me there already and I do not desire recurrences. The mind is a powerful thing, and left to its’ own devices will take control. Impossible to rest peacefully, only my four yellow walls understand my secret. They have shown it to me. In the blood that appears on them, and the screams that echo off of them. The walls show me much more than I wish to see sometimes. They lose their bleak innocence and surround me, suffocating me and haunting me. I can not escape from them, my mind is tormented by my daily survival here. I’m startled away from my thoughts as the terrifying imagery rings close amongst them. I notice my fingers have turned in with my thoughts and my nails have dug into the skin on my legs. I’d barely felt the pressure and the sting of an open cut surprised me. I watched in fascination as a small drop of blood escapes and travels down my leg. The bright red was a welcome relief from the harsh yellow all around me. Slowly it travelled on its’ path and I watched the glistening drop leave a thin trail of red behind it, like the memory of a flowing river. I enjoyed the sensation of the drop moving across my skin, feeling the tingle of a chill as the wetness dries against the air. Finally the drop slipped onto the ground and ended there – in a small, red dot upon the floor with a certain finality, and I felt as the drop was. Here in this room, was my end. Nothing more than a small dot in the universe. And yet, one drop can cause a ripple effect expanding reaches far greater than itself. And this was how I came to be, as well. I took the power of life in my own hands and will not end this life having taken only my own. It had become too late to stop my effect from drowning those in my wake. I tore my eyes from the blood, and fought back the memories. I fixed my gaze once more on those yellow walls and reveled in their dreariness. I let it absorb me, take me away from my thoughts. I drew a deep breath and regained control of my thoughts once more. A daily struggle, when they want nothing more than to take over and consume me. I shift my thoughts to the outer world. To grasp a sense of normality. A park, in the bright sunshine. A tropical drink between my fingers, flaunting an umbrella, a sliver of lemon. The delicate flowers swaying in a soft breeze as the bees flit from one to another hungrily. This was the world I was no longer privileged to be a part of. That is what was taken from me when my thoughts took me too far. If only someone could know what I was thinking in that moment. The sharp numbness overtook my limbs and I shifted on the hard floor. As I repositioned myself my hand came to land on the ground firmly and a sudden clap emitted from the floor and echoed off the yellow walls. I slapped my hand against the floor again sharply and briefly enjoyed the break in tense silence. I stretched my slight body against the cold floor and felt it press unyieldingly back against my hip bones and rib cage. My cheek rested on the cool surface and I opened my hands to splay my palms against it as well. My days had come to be filled with sensory exploration. It was my way of occupying my mind and giving my body a sense of purpose. I concentrated on fully using my senses and understanding them. My eyes were my weakness. They would see things not there. They would bring me back into my thoughts. Closing them only made things worse. With nothing to see, I had only my mind to reference and my imagination to drag me deeper. I needed the solace of my yellow walls. Their distraction and simplicity offered me an escape.

Adventures Afar

I never thought I’d end up living in New York, but here I am. I’ve come to learn that you can’t use never as a definite term and that life will always present you with the unexpected. Fortunately, I’ve figured out how to thrive under these circumstances and successfully make it to this point in my life.

 

The cold air hits my face, and it’s a daily wake-up call for outside labourers. Sometimes it’s refreshing, other times, harsh. Depends on your point of view, I guess. To understand a bit about me I must first start with this fact; I’ve worked with horses most of my life. They are without a doubt, my passion and I revel in the opportunities this career has presented to me – one of which was the choice to move to the States a couple years ago. Upon reflection it was a crazy idea. Somehow, it happened though, and that is how I came to be living in New York. I was raised a country girl in a small town in Canada, and loved my space and freedom there. My family was supportive and fed my passion. My mother always pushed me to be my best. I look up to her with unconditional admiration to this day and credit almost all of my happiness and successes to her. She was the one who said I should go the States. I listened.

 

I was going through a tough time in my life then – relationship-wise. I seemed stuck in an eternally cycling and destructive relationship that I could not free myself from. Naive and with more heart than head, only in retrospect do I see the issues inherent in our relationship. On again and off again, it held all the classic signs of something not meant to be. Still, stubborn and an unlikely romantic at heart, I clutched to the hope that we were meant for eachother – my first love and I. I imagined that the good moments outweighed the bad, heart-wrenching as they could be, and daily I convinced myself that we could make things work. Deep down however, I knew. This was not good for me and I had a lot to learn. And so, once the idea was planted to travel to the States, I acted on it. My mother, perhaps unknowingly – although in her uncanny wisdom perhaps not – freed me from the cycle eventually. I don’t even really remember what I was thinking, it all happened so fast. I do remember the finality of my decision in the moment I told my boss of three years, I was quitting. It had been my first full-time job, fresh out of highschool. I remember with amusement that I started the job the day I turned eighteen, and learned a lot there on my own through trial and error. I was leaving my dream job of managing, riding and working on my own with horses day in and day out. To chase a whim. A briefly and newly imagined thought. Once the finality of that decision hit me, fear hit me as well. I had no idea what I was doing, had traveled but once to another country. I had tentative plans arranged to house with a friend of an acquaintance – a woman whom I’d merely spoken to on the phone once. We had a common interest in horses but that was the only commonality I would come to find.

 

All of a sudden, the last twenty-one years of my life was packed into my small Honda. The day I was to leave behind my family, all my loved ones and the comfortable world I’d come to know over my lifetime up to this point, had arrived. I made the initial journey alone. The drive scared me (I had a penchant for getting lost, among other things), the border crossing scared me, the States scared me, but most of all the uncertainty scared me. I was a planner. Methodical, practiced and safe. I loved variety but had to come to learn to appreciate change. I had no job, no income waiting for me. The plan was for myself and my beloved pony to live with this unknown woman, work off our housing, and co-ordinate with my acquaintance – a travelling equine dentist – to then secure a job and living situation. Fifteen hours were ahead of me to reach North Carolina and my destination and as soon as I crossed the border I was suddenly grasped by fear. I wasn’t even sure I wanted to get where I was going. I wanted to turn around in that moment and head back to warm safety and know I could be surrounded by loved ones who would take care of me. To not drive into the cold world, filled with self-serving people who seek to gain advantage. I was, and have been for quite some time, aware of my naivety and guard myself closely to protect against that weakness. Borne not from a lack of intelligence or knowledge, my naivety lies in my vulnerability. That illogical reflex to believe what people say is actually true, that people speak from their hearts and everyone only wishes the best for one another – as I strive for. That childlike innocence. Many times previously, it has ended up hurting me but this seems to be a lesson I have a hard time learning. Perhaps I’m not meant to. There is something beautiful in vulnerability, just as there is in pain. This reason is what led me to keep driving forward. The hope that something better was waiting for me, and that the people waiting to enter my life would not let me down.

 

I made it as far as Virginia before I could drive no more and stopped at a small motel for the night. Upon waking, I went to return my key and the owner thanked me. Before I turned to leave I remember he said to me, “How was your sleep?” When I replied, “Okay, but I didn’t sleep much”, he looked at me thoughtfully. “The rooms here are all aligned so as to be properly feng shui. You did not sleep well, not because of the room, but because there is too much going on up here (and motioned towards his head). You need to calm your thoughts and have faith things will work out.” I stared at him a brief moment, and gave a smile. He had no idea how right he was. Many thoughts and uncertainties weighed heavily on my mind that day. They raced through my head as I made my final turn into the drive of my new home. As I stepped from my car, I breathed a deep breath and took a moment to realize that I had made it. Now I just had to figure out what I was to do here. My new companion was a harsh woman and I had a hard time relating to her. She was bitter, the world was her enemy and she felt she deserved much more than she worked for. In time there came brief moments where I felt safe and like I belonged, but they were fleeting and short-lived. I still felt like I had to move on, a restless feeling that grew stronger each day. I was not meant to stay here and I was getting more and more anxious to get out of there. The differences between my companion and I grew and the interactions became less and less pleasant. I started to feel trapped there because she made me feel each moment that I owed her. For my room, my pony’s board, this opportunity. I ended up with the bulk of the work on my shoulders and nothing to show for it, other than the fact that three months in I was still barely surviving in the States.

 

I spent my first birthday alone. My companion went out that night without so much as a well-wishing. I didn’t care because I didn’t expect her to care. Through experiences in my romantic relationship, I had learned not to place expectations on people, that I would only be let down. To expect nothing and then be pleasantly surprised was much less disheartening, I reasoned. I spent most of the evening on Skype with my family, wanting desperately to be able to reach through the screen and hug them. I didn’t want to let them go, to be faced with the empty, lonely night in a strange and uncomfortable trailer that was supposed to be my new home but felt as far from it as one could get. I cried myself to sleep with the harsh reality that I missed them more than ever and that a simple, ten minute drive wouldn’t change that. Christmas came and I went home.

 

I wanted nothing more than to stay there and never come back. Now I knew what was waiting for me in the States, and I didn’t like it. But again, I drove my car across the miles to return, this time with my destructive relationship partner in tow. We were going to try to make things work, long distance at times if we had to. Deep down I knew it wasn’t going to work – it barely worked without distance adding to our problems – but I had almost accepted that. I needed a way to get out, and among other opportunities, this journey offered me that. We returned in North Carolina to a much more hostile environment, for now I owed her even more. Now two people were imposing on her, despite the fact that we offered free labour in exchange. I lost the privilege of my own room and in the tiny, broken down trailer, took up camp sharing an old, uncomfortable couch every night in the middle of the living room while the three other occupants of the stifling trailer and the five dogs meandered about at all hours. It felt like I could do nothing right, had no escape and had nothing to be proud of. Finally I had enough, I needed to breathe and be reminded of what it was to enjoy what life has to offer. One day, after finishing morning chores, we took off. We went to Raleigh and I discovered again what it was like to have fun and enjoy myself without worry. The day was filled with touring around the city, exploring farmers markets and enjoying street performers. We did museum tours and ate at exotic restaurants. I reluctantly came back, but with a renewed sense of purpose. After enduring a thorough yelling match for my unannounced absence from my companion, I realized that was the first time that I didn’t care. Always the one eager to please everyone and certainly never anyone to tick off a person in charge, I would easily get very upset over getting reprimanded. It bothered me that I saw myself as tough and yet even just a sharp word of disapproval would haunt me and make me feel horrible for far longer than it should have. The lesson I learnt that day was that not everyone deserves my respect. I felt freed and stronger. I yelled back and stood up for myself. And a month later, I left. That’s how long it took for me to figure something else out for myself once I put my mind to getting out of that situation. I had arranged an interview during Christmas at a small farm in Pennsylvania and had stopped on my return route to North Carolina for it. Within minutes of leaving, I was enthusiastically offered the job and a start date of March 1st. I started February 1st because I wasn’t going to wait any longer.

 

Throughout this time, the fights within my long-term relationship continued, inevitably. The sense of survival forced us to work through it but I could feel the bond weakening. He stayed with me at my new job in Pennsylvania for three months and then made excuses to go back to Canada early. I saw through the lies but let him go, feeling more and more alone. My new home was much better at least. I felt huge relief the first time I walked through the door to my very own cottage accommodations. I had my own space again. Things would be better now, at least in that regard. My boss, though eccentric, had moments of warm-heartedness and on some level I loved her for that. I started another part-time job nearby in New Jersey and for the first time in four months, I had an income again. One of my first thoughts was, “Jet’ll be okay now.” Jet, my pony, I made a vow to when I acquired him at thirteen. He would always have at least a couple thousand dollars in my bank account dedicated to him should something go wrong. The few times my bank account went below those numbers were the most stressful times in my life. I was terrified of not having any money, of not being able to care for Jet when he needed it. It ranked as one of, if not the, top fear and driving factor behind my work ethic. Now that I had better opportunities around me, I was quick to acquire a third job and was back on my feet and running towards becoming financially stable again.

 

There were still things to sort out in this new country, among them, having to find a new car. I’d never really been car shopping before. The proud owner of a reliable Honda since I was seventeen, my Dad had done all the purchasing and details for me, I simply handed over the cash when he said he’d found me a good one. As appreciative as I was to him for doing that for me, I was now finding the value in learning to do things for myself as well. The hard way. My first car bought solo lasted an unimpressive three months. My first trip with it to visit family in Canada, it never made it back. Broken down at the side of the road, irreparable, I faced my mistake. The arduous and further mishap-filled journey back to Pennsylvania left me feeling defeated and useless. I vowed to become better equipped to master this problem and set out once again to find myself a reliable vehicle, after putting ample hours into researching and arming myself with knowledge. During this time, it was highlighted the better circumstances within which I found myself. My boss in New Jersey lent me her newer vehicle because she needed me to keep working for her and contributing my work to the stables. For a month I used her vehicle, free of charge and drove around in search of a new car for myself on any day I had spare time off work. I don’t think she ever knew how much I appreciated that, and try as I might to express it to her I was never very good at that sort of thing. She had offered me a sense of hope and I started to feel a bit like this was home, and I was going to make it here in the States. There were people who would look out for me here, as well as themselves. As things got better in my living and work environment, they got steadily worse in my relationship. Things were not working out in favour of him being able to stay in the States legally and it started to feel more and more like he wasn’t really trying to make them work either. Christmas time came around and I returned to Canada to visit. He was supposed to come back to the States for the few months allowed but he mysteriously lost his passport on the day we were to depart and ended up staying behind.

 

The trip back proved to be a trying experience. I will never forget it. Poorly equipped with only summer tires and facing a surprise snowstorm in upstate New York, I was forced to take a break from my journey back after I witnessed two cars ahead of me drive into the ditch along the highway. Not wanting to push my luck, I got off at the nearest town; Brewster, NY. I found a hotel there eventually. My parents desperately wanted to pay for me to stay in it, but I was no longer accepting help from anyone. I’d figured out I had to learn things for myself, and learn them the hard way. At eighty dollars for one night, and the recent memory of being income-less fresh in my mind (as well as the unexpected ten thousand dollars I’d just spent on cars in the few months), I stubbornly refused to pay up. I asked if I could stay in the parking lot of the hotel and the woman at the desk pityingly said yes. That turned out to be the coldest night of the winter in upstate New York, with temperatures dropping to minus forty degrees Fahrenheit. Being unable to drive anywhere, I had limited rations of a small bag of cookies and chocolates from a Christmas gift bag. I took all my clothes out of my small overnight bag and wrapped myself in them in the backseat of my car but I was still freezing. I watched the snow softly fall around me and soon the glow from the street lights was softened by the blanket of snow covering my car. Hungry and cold, I was unable to sleep and I can safely say that was one of the longest nights of my life. With nothing to do but think, I convinced myself that I deserved this. I needed to try harder at everything, somewhere I was failing. Finally, after the plows came by, I noticed a McDonalds nearby which I hoped would be open soon. I uncurled my cramped body and opened my door. A pile of snow fell on me and I looked around in amazement at the few feet of snow surrounding my car and thickly coating the town. I cleaned off my car and slowly drove to the McDonalds. They weren’t open yet and desperately, I waited in the parking lot. They opened their doors just after five am and I was able to step into the glorious warmth of the building. I got food and sat for a while until all the feeling was back in my body and I felt warm at last again. Then I reluctantly struck out for Pennsylvania to try once more in my journey.

 

Within that night I realized I was alone on my journey. He had not been there as he should’ve, and I should get used to that. Shortly thereafter, I came upon a confession of his. Revealing stories of his infidelities and inappropriate experiences while I was away in another country. What bothered me the most was not that he had done these things, unfortunately I had grown used to being treated in such a way, but that he acted as though nothing was going on and had premeditated his actions. He had spent time with me over Christmas as though nothing was amiss. He had never lost his passport, but had wished to stay a little longer in Canada to continue in his activities for a while longer, instead of being with me. I felt played. I felt like he had preyed on my most vulnerable side – my naivety. My hopes that he would grow out of it and come around to seeing me and respecting me as I should have been and wasn’t being. My hope that no one as convincing as him – after four and a half years – would wish to hurt someone who never did him any wrong. It was the only time in our relationship where I was the one who ended it, and it was the last time we broke up. I was devastated at first to see it come to an end after all that time, after all the hopes and dreams I’d placed into it, but eventually I came to see it was for the best and I began to feel free. I had times where I felt like I should’ve felt worse or cried more, and in those moments I speculated whether I had really loved him or not. I’d grown attached to him – in having someone to tell all your hopes and problems to – but letting him go wasn’t as hard as I thought it’d be once I’d made my decision for good and closed off my heart to him. I missed aspects of the relationship more than I missed him I realized. I think of him now without any attachment whatsoever, no sense of longing or desire of any kind to know him. The only emotion stirred is anger and it’s fleeting and not worth effort or attention any longer. I was alone, but had come to do well alone as I’d gotten used to it even when I had been in the relationship.

 

I tried dating for the second time in my life then. I was acutely aware of how inexperienced I was compared to the vast majority of the population my age, and was very careful now to guard my naivety. The first man I actually started seeing was nothing I expected. It was very confusing as I couldn’t figure out whether he was right for me or if I was even really attracted to him. He started me back on the road of learning to trust people though. He opened up to me like nobody ever does, only the second time I met him. He told me intimate and difficult details of his life like I was his best friend in the world. I admired his courage for that and he reminded me that you can’t judge anyone, because you never know what they’ve been through. It wasn’t right however, and we decided to simply be friends and not complicate things. He still checks up on me and is one of the few people in New York I know I can go to for help if ever I were in a bad situation. I met a few others, and through trial and error I learned more about dating. I was very selective though and few got the opportunity to see me again. I made a couple more friends and started to feel more connected in Pennsylvania and New York.

 

Eventually it came time for me to move on, and after a year in Pennsylvania I moved to New York. It seemed natural as I regularly visited New York and had made friends there already. And so, I packed up my things once again and moved to another State. I was getting tired of moving by this point, the thrill of a new adventure was getting over-shadowed by the tedious details of moving States. I had hoped this new opportunity would provide me with longer-term options. Along my journey of new experiences and new lessons, this would be my first time officially having a roommate to live with. As with most experiences along the way, this would not be an easy one. Hard-working, but loved to laugh and sensitive, he gradually opened up to me and we became fast friends. We struggled through difficult and short-staffed times at work, getting up and working from five am to five pm side by side and complaining about our boss to each other. Then after a month or so, things changed. He suddenly became distant and one morning he very seriously told me he needed to talk to me after work. Five minutes later he returned, saying he couldn’t wait. He told me he loved me. Not that he had a crush on me, but that he was head over heels for me and never expected to feel this way about anyone ever again. I was shocked. He promised me the world but I didn’t want it. Like most instances in my life of having to deal with people and their emotions, I likely handled it poorly. I was simply honest, but was told I shouldn’t have been. Even though I had no interest and told him so, I was unfair to not even have given him a chance to see him in that way. I went with my gut and my heart and tried to prevent hurting him any further but he grew very bitter. My friend and confidante became my enemy, whom I was forced to work with, live with and face daily. He attempted numerous times to get me fired, turned all of the rest of the staff against me by spreading lies and referred to me as “The little whore”. During those days I experienced the overwhelming feelings of loneliness again. I talked to no one at work, I was angry at all of them and wanted nothing to do with them. I took solace in the horses and did my work as best I could. I found someone who helped me escape. I started dating a very safe man. Someone a bit older than me and who was simply pleased I was giving him my attention. Who idolized me. He did anything I wanted. He would pick me up right after work to save me from spending another second there and take me out to eat, or bring me to the city to spend hundreds of dollars trying to make me happy and keep me around. He wouldn’t hesitate a second to come pick me up so I could stay at his house and escape my own. We got along easily and very well, and for a month I leaned on him. Then, through a chance encounter I learned he had a little girl he was hiding from me. I casually asked him about it and he confessed. I was nonchalant about the whole thing and he was shocked I was taking it so lightly. I realized it was because I had no attachment to this man. The fact that he had a daughter didn’t bother me because I didn’t see that fact or him significantly affecting my life. That was when I decided it wasn’t fair to him to keep stringing him along. Ending my time with him was very easy, I barely remember it, he was mature and seemed to understand it was inevitably going to happen. Still, I will forever be grateful for what he did for me during that time. I learned that people in your life come and go when they need to and are in your life for a reason, even if you don’t know why at the time.

 

My longtime friend came to visit me then for a few weeks and I seized my opportunity. There were two apartments on the property and when the other apartment became available due to staff leaving, I jumped at my chance to move. I had to get away from living with him, it was my only chance for sanity and some solace. My friend helped me move all of my things and he became even more infuriated. And so, things steadily grew worse at work until the staff changed. Two new girls came to replace the ones who had vacated the other apartment and one of them was now his new roommate. After a short period of time the other girl and I started to become friends. I knew I had to attempt to get the new staff on my side so that he couldn’t turn them against me as he had the last group. This was made fairly easy by his current, sour attitude. I hated the drama and still was anxious to leave but I had no where to go. I didn’t have family here, I couldn’t just quit and then go live with my parents for a month while I figured things out. I also had a pony to look after, too, whose rent costs rivaled my own.

 Things then changed finally. It came out that he was hitting on his new roommate, as well. She was only eighteen with a history of sexual harassment and wouldn’t stand for it. Eventually management got notified and my boss got involved. She spoke to previous employees and received similar complaints, she had me confess to any advances made upon me whilst living with him. It was a tense time. He cornered me during this time once, in the stables to yell at me but the boss was on high alert by this point and quickly appeared. A full on debate occurred amongst all the staff members that day in the middle of work and the next day he was fired. I felt a sense of relief and guilt. I had only been honest but I felt like it was my fault he had gotten fired. My boss thanked me for coming forward and asked if that was the reason why I’d moved apartments. No longer having to cover him to help him save face I said yes, but I still felt like I’d betrayed a hard-working man who had at one time been my friend. Feelings of guilt started to wash away when I learned he was happily settled in a new job elsewhere, but I still sometimes wonder if I did the right thing. With him out of the picture, things started going more smoothly at work and I advanced well. Things were looking up, but I also knew I still had a lot to learn…

Self Containment

As with any free time, there come thoughts that wander, wonder and explore.  In this small town, life is small.  People operate on a daily basis defined as a community only at best and only on rare occasions.  The collective social nature of the town resides in bars; at random specialized gatherings; sport, music and art events.  People mingle together when it interests them individually.  Which brings me to this realization – people here prefer to think small, live small and keep things simply small and manageable.  Grandeur ambitions, rare.  Collective power, unexplored.  Life is simply lived.  To obtain a decent job to maintain oneself: good enough.  Laugh, enjoy the company of friends, have a good time when not working.  Small town, small life.  An easygoing, care-free, simply appealing lifestyle.  Content with that, very few are willing to push the boundaries, explore outside the comfort zone.  Simply satisfied here and now, unless a winning lottery ticket is chanced upon, life won’t get any more luxurious – and that’s alright.

Yet, there is something tickling at the back of my mind.  All the time.  My own little, restless, quiet conscience.  I am content, but at the same time my conscience is telling me there’s something else.  That most people are just content with themselves, and that’s the problem.  I don’t want to be part of the problem.  I have to realize and learn to accept responsibility for my potential.  Potential – everyone has it, to some extent.  Few know how to use it and most are afraid of it.  To admit that we have a responsibility and the potential as a person in this world to make a difference is a thought that many would prefer to simply not think about.  If we extend our knowledge and responsibilities beyond our immediate self there is a whole unexplored world out there – and that’s what scares people.  Most people have difficulties handling the responsibilities of maintaining a lifetime mate, or a dependent family.  So it’s decided that, in order to be able to handle having the world on our shoulders without suffering a nervous breakdown, simply pretend it’s not our responsibility.  Plead ignorance.  Amidst this blindness comes initial fear, until that blindness is accepted as the safe barrier separating us from the rest of the turmoil.  Our own chosen blindfold.  But there’s no changing the fact that the world contains people and animals living lives vastly different from our own.  To what extent can we and do we impact them?  No matter, as long as we are content with our small life, don’t rock the boat.

But my conscience.  It crops up when the humanitarian inside witnesses the injustices of the world. Wars depicted in movies, misfortunate lifestyles depicted on television, animal cruelty in newspapers, and every single other injustice broadcasted on the internet.  It’s everywhere, so how can we be blind?  Am I the only one who is not hardened and insensitive towards conscience-bothering thoughts?  Dulled to witnessing the saddening act of taking the life of another human being?  Thinking deeply means feeling deeply.  Submersing oneself into the lives and experiences of others opens up the uncontrollable possibility of feeling their pain.  Why feel others’ pain, when we don’t even wish to feel our own?  Because it’s real.  It is happening – if the blindfold were gone, we would be vulnerable.  Scared little children, drowning in a sea of misery and misfortune, but at the same time, experiencing overwhelming joy and humanity.  We would be naked, unable to control what could happen and how it would affect us.  We would no longer be in control of ourselves.  But control is merely a state of mind, anyways; an impression upon our lives.  Giving up the illusion of control will open up the possibility of growth.  To grow larger than just ourselves, larger than our small lives.

If we are fortunate enough to grow, we can choose to gain greater responsibilities.  We can choose not to support the animal cruelties evident in slaughterhouses everywhere.  That we are in fact responsible for it, as eating is a part of everyone’s life.  To be simply content though, would mean to not think about the injustices we are doing nothing about, and actually, are supporting.  The orphans in Africa are on a distant world – not directly relevant to our content little lives.  To accept responsibility for their problems and admit that there is something we can do would lead to the discomfort of knowing that life is not wholly content anymore.  So we shirk responsibility because it’s easier to simply continue living our comfortable and blindfolded little lives.

But my conscience.  I don’t want to not feel it when another’s life takes a turn for the worse.  Where’s the line between being hardened towards the misfortunes of characters portrayed through media; the people surviving on other continents; and the lives of loved ones closest to us.  How long until self containment becomes our life.  How sad would that be.  A world full of individuals, each with something different to offer, and no one willing to take the chance and explore others lives.  No one willing to risk the possibility of disturbing their simple contentment.  Interacting sure, but not caring beyond the superficial.  It’s not simply diversity acceptance, but acknowledgement; experiencing; and feeling the emotions of others that will allow us to live not only our own lives to the fullest, but will give us the rare opportunity of experiencing life through others as well.  Suddenly, the small town, small life mentality is blown away.  Life is truly being felt – laughter, tears, heart-wrenching sympathetic compassion, and fulfillment beyond anything ever achievable on our own.  A chance to explore our full potential is given.  To see if we can face anything in this whole, wide world – not just our own small world – with compassion.  As the well known saying goes: “Grant me the power to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change what can be changed, and the wisdom to know the difference”.   Long live courage and compassion!