Manhattan was gray today, its clouds hanging low and the light so distant that the buildings faded into the haze. I looked out over the skyscrapers and tried to find the Answer, realizing shortly that I didn't even know the question. How can I be worried when this is my life now? When I have all the power to make out of my life whatever I choose? Somewhere in my body I felt a tingle, and as I stared at the twinkling lights of the New York Times building emerging in the arriving darkness, it spread through my body.
It was the bug. In me, this restlessness, this crazy mad jiggle that makes me impatient, forces me to keep moving, never be satisfied. When I was younger, it was excited fervor, curiosity; I wanted to see, to feel, to burn, and it was all in joy. Now I run like hell just to stay alive, to feel like I am alive. Always chasing that next rush. Why else am I out here, fighting? When I could just as well return to my simple stable life at home. Heaven knows that would be easier.
But it's that rush. It's Life. So I keep it up. Too much to feel, do, experience. I can sleep when I am old, and I will be content to, too. I will say, I have done it all, now I long to lay in my hammock by the ocean and listen to the waves rolling, back and forth, until I drift to my final sleep. I am happy.
Until then, I run.
And when I think of it that way, and I walk home through my dirty, noisy city, I am happy with my decision to come here. I am happy with the madness within me that makes me run. How blessed we are to live, to truly live.
There is no other way. And there never was.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment