We are all figuring it out.
Of that is the only thing I am sure. Of all the tangible items in the world, of all the wealth and all the joyous knowledge we’re been able to amass since the dawn of day upon man, two things have remained constant, death and that one promise. The promise that no matter the path we take in life, no matter the triumphs, nobody ever, ever has it all figured out.
The “it” is a variable.
I recall being in my late teens and scribbling random thoughts in a red fabric bound journal that were preceded by “It’s 2:34 a.m. and I can’t sleep.” I would wait for the silence of the dark skies and linger in the solitude I needed to figure “it” out, whatever “it” was at the time. Musings of a crush. Pondering’s of a future unwritten. Solving for X. All trivial.
The point of this all is to say this: I have finally figured out the illusive art of just figuring it out: *Love abundantly, laugh with all your might, release negativity and eliminate the weight of worry.
Take comfort in knowing that we’re all just winging it anyway.
I said it.
*Note to self.