I’m still lost, but this doesn’t eat me up inside because I know you are too. It’s comforting to know another being out there is having difficulty navigating through the many mazes of this so-called life.
There are times I’m content with being lost. Instead of finding my way around, I sit wherever I am, lean back on the walls, and just allow myself to be in the moment.
In my head is where I always want to be. The walls surrounding me could vanish with a snap of my fingers. I could be in the ocean, swimming with the sharks. I could be on top of a cliff, riding along the waves of my adrenaline as I prepare to take the great leap down. I could be on a plane heading toward who-knows-where. I could be in a bookstore, poring lovingly over the thousands of books, heeding the call of some, promising to return and save the others.
I could be anyone, anything, anywhere.
It’s not a magnificent thing, being lost. There are times I want to yank my hair from the roots and scream myself hoarse. Some moments I wish the earth would open up and drag me to wherever. Sometimes I don’t want to get out of bed at all, just wish I could lie on it all day and stare absently at the ceilings. During intense moments, when the waves inside me crash and roar more strongly, I want to put on my trainers and run. Run away from here. Run away from me.
I don’t know what’s wrong, or even if something’s wrong. But don’t we all? Sometimes it’s nice to let things do their thing. I don’t always have to be this so-called structured and girl-oriented person most people think I am. I’m not always obsessive-compulsive of my surroundings. Like right now, I’m surrounded with a thick layer of dust that has been around since last month. I’m being filthy, and while it’s not for the long term, I didn’t drop dead from all this filth anyway. There are cracks in life wherein we need to be the opposite of who we’d like to be. We need to know we’re okay with being not the label we put on ourselves. We change. If we don’t like how we’re turning out, we can always change back.
I’m still in the maze. Even when I do manage to break free, somehow I’m convinced the maze won’t completely go away. It will always be around, sticking around for when it believes I’m going to need it. In this instance, the maze has no longer become a prison.
It has become home.