It seems that every day now, I ask myself, “What the fuck am I doing here?” I never have an answer I really believe in, and though I haven’t always interrogated myself like this, I’m not sure I’d’ve ever been able to answer that question with affirmation before.
What’s the big deal? Do I always need a reason to be doing something? Well, no, not usually. I’m not the kind of person who needs a reason for anything, happy to throw up my sails and let the wind take me for a while, so long as I have extra oars and an emergency supply of food and wares inside the boat in the event that havoc says hello.
I’ll take my cues from what’s around me and observing all its suggestions. Socially, absorbing a person or a place’s personality, then projecting a piece of it as my own. When making decisions, I ask everyone what they might do and then choose which I like best, rather than draw my own conclusions.
It may be that unavoidable bullshit of growing up, but I’m tired of Suggestion looming over me, controlling me. It’s simple science to figure out we weren’t born this way - we created ambition, morals, and how to create and live inside the norm. Is there still Me in all this? If everything that exists belonged to someone before, can I ever call something my own? Are our dreams and ambitions ours at all? Shit.
I’m nearly twenty-three years old. I’m a United States Marine. I’m an educator. I’m a musician. I’m fortunate - privileged even. I’m a nail biter. I’m a friend and a lover, always one before the other. I wear my heart on my sleeve though typically dress in layers. I love the chaos of my life - the uncertainty - I just don’t know what’s right, and if I really give a shit in the first place.