Sunday, January 17, 2010

I'm Too Old For My Age

I shouldn't feel like this.
Exhausted or tired aren't words that can describe it. I'm weary. Weary down to my bones, weary down to the deepest core of my being.

I am trapped in the body of a wizened old woman, of someone who has seen and been through enough to give them more perspective than they ever wanted to have. Of someone who has fought battles, scaled mountains, and is now tired in every essence of the word.

There is something to be said about innocence. There's a kind of blameless bliss in naivete, an almost-admirable beauty of the shielded life and the cocooned heart. There's something exciting about an un-morphed butterfly; there's something heartwarming about a little girl who still believes in fairies and being pursued by princes.
Whenever I meet a small child like that, I enjoy feeding their imaginative and idealistic minds. I sigh, smile, assure them that they'll live in castles someday, and secretly yearn to travel back in time ten years where my world was also full of buttery sunshine and good magic.

But reality is a harsh foe. Most people meet her in their lives; some never do. Some become well-acquainted with her; others are slightly more fortunate. And some learn to get along with her.

Reality is rainfall on your picnic. Reality a never-ending storm, heartbreak, disappointment, disease, poverty, death. Reality is pain without immediate solace; it is a bitter medicine that gnaws slowly at your stomach.
Reality is a holocaust of all that beautiful innocence and faith we were born with.
Reality is what makes a person very weary.

My mother accuses me of "thinking that I know everything," which is probably the accusation that has always bothered me the most. I have never, and will never, think I know everything. Nobody thinks they know everything. That's completely absurd. But I've seen a lot, and I understand a lot. I also know that I have plenty more to learn; after all, I have about 80% more of my life to live.

Now I just wish that I had the energy left to do it.
Sometimes, reality, just like anything else, is only good in moderation.

1 comment:

  1. reality is being stranded in an airport, on your way home when every outbound flight is delayed a few hours and then cancelled, again and again

    and then they tell you, after an endless line to the ticket counter that you won't be getting out of here before christmas

    (but i did, and that's reality too)


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