The Wanderer

In my days of high confidence I used to think that everyone was talking about me. Everyone noticed me.
In my days of low confidence I used to think that no one was talking about me. No one noticed me.

In the high confidence, I thought that I never escaped observation or deconstruction. I was stuck in every rumor, laced in every conversation, trapped in every opinion. Under every eye, and drenched in every speculation and suspicion. There was nothing I could say that would not come under dissection, and there was nothing I could do that would not qualify for analyzation. Bondage was that of wondering what was being said and thought about me in every awakened hour. Freedom was in realizing that it never really mattered to begin with.

In my days of low confidence I was that of a leaf in autumn time. I was blown every where. Through streets, passing by cigarette smokers and coffee drinkers. Up into trees to be lost in foliage more colorful and vibrant. Through parks and city ways, and in the most dreary days of winter, perhaps caught in the edges of rainy sewers or dirty curbs.

At times I felt stepped upon. I felt crunched. I felt pressed onto concrete underneath the pressure of a shoe of someone so much stronger and powerful, that would only trample me for a moment, seeming like eternity, and than continue with their business. Those times were hard, and qualified for some ripping, some shedding, and some drying. But what made those things reedemable, was these times now. These times when I feel like I am floating high above the ordinary, overhead the worries, and beyond the habitual. That I am lost in blue skies, a never ending aray of firmament, and a abudant amount of celestial magic.

Why do we seem to think we need keep things as usual? As typical? As ordinary? As safe? Perhaps it is there that we feel most comfortable. Perhaps it is there that we feel unharmed. But I would certainly rather be trampled a few times, than live a life of no extravagance.. of no art.. of no passion.. of no chance.. of no outrageousness..and of no failing. I would rather spend a few rainy hours in the corner of a sewer, waiting for the wind to swipe me up, than to stay attached and enslaved to a beautiful tree. I suppose than, for anyone who would care to be informed: I would rather be a wanderer.

If your mind is open and your heart is free you will know that you can be a purposeful wanderer. You can be a wanderer with intention. That is what I pray I would be. That every place my heart or mind or body would wander would be backed up by a great reason, a great intention, a great story, a great pushing, a great convicting, a great longing for more.