A gift.

It has recently occurred to me that I don’t understand life. I never did, and I fear many others don’t either. Life after 30, especially, is presenting itself as being extremely difficult. You see, I didn’t get married in my 20’s. I stuck with my beliefs as far as never wanting children, and now here I am, 30 and childless. I am not unhappy. In fact, these choices I have made have left me unbelievably happy and grateful. But I’d like to be really…honest.

Honestly, life has fucked me up. I’m not talking about the terrible or unfortunate situations in my past. We all go through heartbreak and sadness and loss. This is not new, it is a part of life that we all must experience. I am talking about the weight of life itself. The realization that in reality, life itself doesn’t hold very much meaning. In the big scheme of things, we live and we die and we leave a small mark. This realization, the one of mortality and morality, is difficult to accept at times. And the depth of said realization can affect us in ways we might not realize until a specific moment in our lives.

That moment for me is right now. I am in such a hurry to love, to give, to receive and to FEEL, that I forget how to do anything else. I feel like I run short on time. One day I will die. And it may be years from now, or tomorrow. And I’d like my last living moments to be full of memories, not regrets. I don’t want to regret not living enough. I don’t want to regret not being loved enough. I don’t want to die alone, although in truth we all do.

I don’t want to live my life in loneliness but I feel most lonely when I am with a lot of other people. There are few people in my life that I can be around for long periods of time without wanting to be alone. This seems like a pattern for most the older they become.

Finally, I want to say that I don’t understand my heart. Young love is so exciting, new. We can love freely and openly and kindly. We embrace it fully and we are not ashamed, or scared. In time these relationships will shape us into the lovers we are as we get older. Will we become liars? Runners? Ship jumpers? Or will we remember to love fully, without regard or fear, until the day we die? I try. But deep down it is in me to be a runner. It is in me to overthink. It is in me to feel so fucking much that it feels as if I feel nothing at all.

 

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