A Life Unsatisfied

Too often our days pass not yet lived. A pile of To Do lists are heaped atop of us; there is no overarching goal, there is just..stuff. Our minds are not focused on the why. We just accept the duty. We are silently content with checkmarking off the activity with no value as to how it drives us to our goal. It may not even be our checkmark. Like a good puppy, we wag our tails from a pat atop our heads.

Why aren't we the principal player in our story? Maybe we are. If our narrative is food, that's about as far as our story takes us. But what if we yearn for something higher, not to get that golf clap from others who secretly disdain our success, but in expanding our horizons of consciousness, we push to become better, to be more, then what would our days look like? Would they be as forgettable? Or, would each single day be a chapter to the scaffolding of our adventure?

This is not about personal wealth. Wealth is a funny thing: it strips us of our hunger, doesn't it? Some might find the shallow pursuit of wealth to be an end unto itself, but what if our lives don't have the accumulation of things as its end? Who and what might we become? Who and what would change around us? How might the world change? If we're not focused on others' successes and failures and turn inward to achieve greatness, how might we create collectively a better world? If we all woke up at 3-something AM in the morning to ignite our drive toward greatness by the power of our own will, what would our neighborhood look like?

Or, do we just survive to the next vacation...to the next TV season...to the next Taco Bell?

Something I Wrote

One of my final posts on Facebook was a picture of my 2012 TEFL certificate with my name prominently featured with Comic Sans as the rest of the doc was a Times-based font. I made the following comment:

With unmitigated scorn, I cannot contain my deeply-rooted, reckless contempt for the abomination that is Comic Sans. There is no place I can run, nowhere I can hide from this disfigurement of all that is holy. Comic Sans terrifies me like a clown standing outside my window. Comic Sans slithers into my room at night and spies in the shadows. Who will deliver me from this body text of death? Thanks be to ITC Benguiat!