“I dream my painting and I paint my dream.” ― Vincent van Gogh
I said it to a friend in conversation, “I guess it’s the eternal optimist in me…” right before admitting a defeat and recognizing that maybe I set my own self up for failure. As soon as I spoke the words, they echoed with an uncomfortable boom. Maybe I should’ve seen it coming. Perhaps I should’ve known better. I ought to, wake up and smell the coffee… get my head out of the clouds already…
Problem is, hm. I like the view up here.
Risks are daunting. The altitude may be stifling. At times it may be hard to breath and suffocating, nail biting… scattered cringe worthy moments of humbling humiliation, but I won’t exchange the perilous route for the sound safety of sea level ground. I’m hard wired. I admittedly have a lot to learn, but I do certainly know this. I know no other route but to climb. I gravitate towards the struggle and rise to the fight. I think the complacency of the back float would most certainly drown and sink my soul far faster than the dark waters of the unknown plunge. Drifting in someone else’s preconceived wave of right.
I will own them, my mistakes. Mind, body, soul- tried and true -through tears and trials, they are mine. They are the threads through transient time that courses the stitching of our souls. Life’s full of critics, skeptics, and wardens- passing sentences, labels, judgment, but the rat race game of status and hierarchy is no party I want to partake in.
Is it too much to dive in and swim? Does it scare you? Sopped and soaking, just to leap? Dripping with risk and uncertainty, I dream of moving forward, climbing upward with my head in the clouds and my sights on the sky. Diving down deep and feeling the pressure.
Paradoxical parallels of preconceived parameters exist, up and down… sky and sea… trials and triumph.
I see no boundaries.
I guess it’s the eternal optimist in me.