the lost man chronicles
47. the proof of life
It feels as if I have been away for a long time.
As if I had gone away, and then suddenly one day, showed up years later.
Alas, everything is in the same place just as I left it. So, it seems I could not have been gone all too long. A week maybe.
For the bus still rolls into the city and the City is still there. My office still is in tact on the same square block, and it is not a shock to confirm I still have a job.
Of course, I may neglect the latter a bit today, for I have much to say, because I have changed.
In a good way, in a great way, if not many great ways, most of which I have yet to realize, are still to come, have yet to materialize as opportunity, as my will deployed, as life enjoyed beyond my means—for it all but seems that the only way is to stray off to the edges, on to the outskirts, over the top and around the bend where we might find ways to make life more meaningful.
It is not—the same place at the same time everyday, the in-and-out day, for this is simply the trite formula for the less sublime. It is not in a place where we must keep our heads down and not frown, nor pout and remain quiet, and definitely, not shout! for joy, bliss or sorrow.
So tomorrow, if not today, make an effort to make life meaningful by taking a step awry, give something new a try, risk giving a compliment, see someone anew as a complement to your otherwise still and sedate static life; prove, if only to your self, that you are alive, and do it in a way that is worth remembering.
easier not to vie .46 48. blazing insight