The mediocrity that is me
2002-12-21 11:43:01 (UTC)

Doing it for myself.

In three words I can sum up everything I've learned
about life: It Goes On.
----- Robert Frost

Life is life. Nothing more and nothing less. Get up in
the morning, make a fresh post of coffee --- folgers, or
some other equally cheap brand --- and then just go out
there and live it.

There will be pain, and there will be sorrow, and everyone
often feels alone in the world. There are moments for
being self-involved, dwelling on the past --- mistakes
that have been made, regrets. But it doesn't matter.
When it comes right down to it, there is no other choice
except to live.

The past only shapes personalities and character. The
future is highly undefinable. The present is nothing more
than a fleeting instant. A spark. A moment. A lifetime.
Sure, suicide is definitely an option, and death will
eventually get us all, but why dwell on something that's a
certainty? Just live. It's never pointless or
meaningless or dull and drab as long as you're

My god, just breathing. Just that one simple act proves
to me that there is still hope. Hope for happiness,
pleasure, and most of all, hope for beauty. Outside at
night during winter, perhaps when it's overcast and grey,
and one of the streetlights is out and other one is
flickering, the moon is casting a blue tint on the cracked
sidewalk, nothing is more beautiful than that
single cloud of breath hanging in the still air for a
moment, an untouchable instant, before it disappears into
the cloudy darkness. How is that not beautiful. How is
that not perfect in every possible definition of the
word. Or driving on the freeway in the dark with the
windows rolled down, just listening to music, not thinking
about anything else in the world other than staying on the
open road, just cruising. Beautiful. Free.

And there is still pain and loss and death and nothingness
and numbness and loneliness and emptiness and regrets.
But there is also hope and love and experience and sex and
wisdom and friends and movies and coffee and kissing and
and ice cream and people and beauty. And life. Why try
to attach some deep meaning to it? It's possible to spend
a lifetime searching for meaning, ending up nowhere,
circling around until the conclusion becomes the question.

People will go on living. Death will happen, and new life
will rise up again from the ashes, because nothing is
finite. Get up every morning, continue when you think you
can't, when you're ready for death, when you're too tired
and beaten down to deal with anything. Get through the
day even when you have the metallic taste in your mouth,
you can feel your finger squeezing the trigger, and the
gunshot echoes in your mind and you see the blood spatter
on the white wall, drip down to stain the carpet, and
you're done, finished, over, gone. Still, you wake up to
see the day pass by. Still, you live to see
the next day, and the next, and the next one after that,
until once again, you're laughing and living, because
that's life.

It goes on.

And it will go on. Happy, sad, mediocre, whatever. It
will go on. And in that lies all the beauty and the
perfection of life.

Life is life.

Either you live it or you don't. And, as corny as it
probably sounds, I know what I choose. I've chosen it when
I was sad, angry, depressed, and worthless. I've chosen
it when I was happy, content, caring, and loved. I choose
to live. I've chosen it every time.

After all, I'm still here, aren't I?