When you are young, you close your eyes and dream of the important and successful person you hope to be one day. When you are old, you yearn for the wild that once coursed it’s way through your veins, enveloping your soul and feeding your spirit. There was once a point in time where we would take our hearts in our hands and run, without a care in the world, into the abyss of the unforeseeable future. We jumped from heights that were too high and fell, only to climb back up and do it again. We existed only in the present and found a home within the emotions that brought us there. We were in no way safe and in every way vulnerable. Risk was all that we knew and all that we learned to love.
As you gaze back into the mirror of your life, reminiscing on the moments that you hold most dear, do you feel regret that you didn’t have more of those moments, or do you feel the electricity of excitement for the moments to come?
We have drifted since we last saw ourselves. We have drifted so far that the only route back is a dark and treacherous one; one that many of us are not willing to take, no matter how beautiful the eventual destination may be. There is no other choice but to hover over the in between, watching as life passes by. We are continuously searching for answers in the worst of places. We try to find our own meaning in the eyes of others, in the relationships that we create and the ones we end. We allow our lives and our happiness to be determined by the people and places without us. Our lives are no longer our own as they once were. We have given them away.
Some may say that looking over our shoulders into the memories that have built us is useless. Those voices are afraid. They have known pain and do not want to know it again. Looking back may not bring a smile, but it will bring a bittersweet warmth; choosing not to do so will only bring a lifetime of uncertainty. Living in that uncertainty draws us away from the wild that we once knew and pushes us into a search; a search where we find that what we had known to be our wild was love in its truest of forms and the mere welcome of it. Distraught and confused, we convince ourselves that we will never find that wild again and, therefore, must create something else. We must make ourselves once more.
We are here – and here, we are lost.
Making something of yourself doesn’t make you. Close your eyes again like you did when that wild was your best friend. Realize. What makes you is love. Love makes you and everything around you. Everything around you will take you in its arms and hold you in its perfect embrace. Everything can love you, but only if you let it.