Gossamer things.

Mulling over lock-step routine, of waking up and facing a day that is the same as the last one, every single day. I’m thinking of petty frustrations and short tempers and impatience, and teeth-gritting at the end of the day. I’m thinking of how I got to that place, why I should have this irritating gravel of discontent in my chest. How did that gravel get there?

I’m thinking of big ideas, about the decisions that have to be made to change the shape and texture of your life, of the hard work it can take to get there. I’m thinking of impossible dreams, dreams so big they’re almost unfathomable: dancing on your toes from star to star, swinging from the crescent tip of the moon. Gossamer things. Delicate wishes, crystalline hopes, the things so big and so beautiful you’re afraid that if you touch them, they’ll shatter.

Then there’s the pull of the two ideas: how to appreciate the moment while at the same time working to get yourself out of these moments because you yearn to be somewhere else.

How the answer is a seed of something inside, a small, round core that shines all the time when you let it. There should be something good in you, something to be content in, no matter where you are. And how I lose sight of that core all the time, how I let it lose its luster.

I’m sitting in an office, surrounded by square things. But inside, a small flare, a solar burst boundless and shapeless in the making. A light to live by.