Being good

To be all things to all people, or to be one thing to one person once?

Idealists wanting to fulfill all their ambitions, or a perfectionist devoting their everything to a single goal?
A constant of either would be torture. One is doomed to fail from the onset, the other has to ignore everything the world has to offer.

The only option left is to be average and be somewhere in between. Content is an elusive emotion when one is aware of unrealised potential. Yet, many can devote everything to a single goal and constantly question the choice he has made.

I refuse to give in. My mind and body is my own. My actions and thoughts can forever be judged by an endless number of perpectives, but at the end of the day, my decisions are my own.

I want to devote a single mind to a single goal at all times in my life. And yet, I want time off to be an idealist that fails at everything I do. This is what I have chosen for myself.


The fear is I confuse the single devotion with the other planned failures I have in my life. May I never do that.

However, my problem is that I constantly get distracted. I run off to the first obstacle I see and start to climb. I forget the important things. I worry about irrelevant things. It takes a strong man to ignore and consiously uncare. Because he will be hated for it, and yet it is the only way he can live with himself.

I have a horrible headache that follows a horrible stomach ache which let me escape from shopping with the girlfriend, but I find myself writing nonsense I barely understand myself

Putting my thoughts up like this allows scrutiny of myself by anyone. The bad far outweigh the good, especially when they know who I really am. And strangely I am drawn to exposing myself in this way. Could this be the start of a fatalistic streak? A practise in self-contemplation? A cry for attention? I have absolutely no idea what this is. Only that I stop thinking in circles when I write it down somewhere others can read.

Perhaps I find myself a monster of sorts and I feel compelled to warn others of my true nature. Or perhaps I find that everything we say or everything we do is constantly assessed and reassessed by ourselves and everyone around us to conform to a preconceived notion of civility. Perhaps a blog is my best way to express myself completely uncensored save for the riddles by which I communicate. Perhaps this is my freedom. Perhaps it is why I fantasize of being a barbarian although I know I would be crocodile food within the first day.

Perhaps I find this the only way I can communicate without someone else derailing my train of thought. Perhaps I finally realise that we are incapable of seeing the world outside our own experiences and therefore we can never really understand what someone else feels. Perhaps it follows that the most honest conversation we can have is with ourselves. And yet that is forbidden. Perhaps a blog would be a suitable cover for such an activity.