Some days life just hits you and makes you it’s bitch.  While this can happen in a variety of ways, today it happened to me esoterically.  There I am, 30,000 feet above Dallas, and I just started crying as I stared out of the plane window, watching the sun setting over the cars, buildings and lakes during the hustle and bustle of Tuesday evening traffic.

What’s the point?

Half of me wondered if life matters at all.  A sad, depressed wave as thick as oil oozed slowly over the top of my head and settled all around me in my seat.  My life is meaningless. What’s the fucking point of all of this? As I lamented the work trip I was wrapping up, filled with client meetings and a tour for an up and coming luxury airport product.

The other half of me looked out over the horizon against a backdrop of wild pinks, purples and blues in the sky hovering over homes tightly packed neatly in their assigned quadrants across the landscape.  I felt an incredible connected kindred to my human brothers and sisters all over the metroplex. We are all the same. Sure, different backgrounds, education levels, jobs, upbringings and experiences separate us – but not one of us is more suited or better than the other at anything that can’t be considered deeply meaningful, influential or powerful.  We all harness that same exact substance inside of us, meant to be expressed in a wide variety of ways, that can literally shape our entire existence.  And a yearning followed. A yearning to whisper greatness across the land and proclaim some deep internal message I have yet to formulate.

I want to be someone that does something for the humans existing in my time.  I want to mark my time so deeply with significance, contribution, healing and freedom. And I just wanted to breathe it across the land and for the first time in a long time, I realized, I could.  I am not better, worse, smarter, dumber, or less capable in anyway to ensure my life is pumped with meaning for my fellow man. I have that in me just as much as the next man, woman, child or being.  However, this flight, this day, I still didn’t know how. I still sit contemplating my chains of luxury airport products that feel like sinking weights in an ocean of possibilities hidden to me.

Not that I would know what I want to provide to humanity, anyway.  I don’t know that. I struggle with feelings of deep inadequacy and invisibility.  I struggle with concerns that I am not someone who is worthy to be heard. I struggle with the lack of achievement I have obtained to credit my voice in any form or fashion.  A sell-out to generic degrees that offer no specialization or true mastery. A concoction of mixed interests that flit me from one topic to the next, never garnering a deep focus for one area of study over another.  But so many before me have had such similar fates and have found a way to let their voice be known for the benefit of mankind. Not that it’s a pattern I can rest in, as assuredly, so many before me have also never been able to have their voice heard, while suffering the same deafening shrills that haunt them for change and meaning.

And why?  I don’t know why it is I feel I have some deeply entrenched message for the people.  I don’t know where it comes from or if I am misinterpreting some obsessive need for significance that I feel this is the only way I can achieve it.  I don’t mind if I’m never attached to the message though. I don’t mind if I am a silent contributor that guides a healing outbreak among the souls that walk amongst me.  I just know I want to find that thing that I can contribute that alleviates the pressure that cooks within.

I have to keep tugging at the whisper.  I have to keep kindling it, letting the tiny ember grow further and further. I have to keep doing the smallest thing I can, in the deep still quiet because I know no other way.  I must push on and let the soul’s ache lead me into the next unknown. I must. I have no choice but to follow it – curiosity and terror mixed together as I sniff out the faint scent of the path, resolving to a life of the unknown if that is what lies ahead.  

I do not know what my path will hold.  I do know it continues to unfold day by day and all I can do is sludge along when there is no life left inside.  When all the deaths are died and all the breaths are breathed, I must do one more step in this reality granted to me that wrings my soul like a sopping rag until it’s left bone dry.  And then I shall endure yet one more squeeze. Perhaps to my demise. Perhaps to my rebirth. And for the first time ever, I am fine with either ending. Because my journey is mine, and yet it is for all others.  My journey is mine, and yet it is conducted on the vaporous hope of building strength and stability, joy and love into others. It may be worthless, but I will rest knowing I gave all I possibly knew to give. I give all that I can possibly conceive to give to ensure my sisters, my brothers, can live with one heart clad in the most admirable of values.  I want to give my fellow sisters and brethren my heart, and all that I have come to know that holds any true treasure in this life: love, joy, peace patience, kindness (ohhhh, kindness), goodness, faithfulness and self control. All the good things.

To you.  For you. Hope.  

Cheers.