Museum of failure or gallery of trying
or graveyard of dreams?
Isn’t it intriguing how all the greatest minds in the history were at least a little bit disturbed. What is an artist that never went mad? Or a leader who wasn’t corrupted? Or perhaps a poet that didn’t drown in his words? Is somehow the knowledge of the world so heavy that the more you gain, the faster your driven to insanity-?
There are so many people in history I could quote:
“The only way to deal with an unfree world is to beccome so absolutely free that your very existence is an act of rebellion” — Camus
“For mad I may be, but I will never be convenient” -Jennifer Donolley
“You can not make a revolution, you can only be the revolution. It is in your spirit, or it is nowhere” -Ursula k. leguin
I will never ever understand people who dont believe in supernatural forces. Or don’t believe in magic. Like plants just grow out of the soil? just like that? I mean — it doesn’t stop being magic just because you know how it works. Life is so subtle sometimes that too often we forget to take notice of the fact that you are walking through the same doors you once prayed would open.
The Earth is practically littered with the ruins of the empires that once believed they were eternal. I will never fail to understand why there is so much shame in failure. I hate to be looked at while I am learning. Don’t look at me when I am starting out on something. There’s this inherent shame of beginning.
Also I want to talk about the inherent shame of somebody being better than you at something and the very primal rage when they say “Ah, you will get it, this is easy” or “you made a mistake here and here”. If knowledge is power then it feels like they have some power over you and for that I would never stop admiring people who can teach you stuff without making you feel stupid. There so much anger in dependency and to counteract something so human is so very admirable.
I feel like one lifetime is not enough. I want to experience every alternative. How different life could have been if I were a boy or if I didn’t make a certain decision or if I never chose the course I chose or if I never dated the boy I did or if I was born into a richer/poorer family. I want to know every alternative. I want to explore so much. What if I had never given up on tennis or what if I had only studied more for this exam or if I would have worked harder in the drama club. There are so many what ifs and so little time.
Sometimes when I am feeling dreary, or annoyed, or in general just unimpressed in life, I like to imagine what it would be like to come back to this world for just a day after having been dead. I imagine how sentimental I would have been about the little things. Oh, there’s my sister and we all live together in one house. Ohmygod its light switches, humans really are genius. And look at this old couch my family couldn’t get rid of. And this overfilled bookshelf with books that I have kept in hopes I would read someday. Why did all this bother me? It’s so….endearing.
