And Oh, About That Thing

Maybe this would be better or easier to understand if I took an existential approach.
Do you think?
Maybe I should focus on the relatable existence instead of the irrationalities that play out in our heads.
But still, I think there are challenges and questions ahead.
So, I will begin this thought with one big, yet simple question.
What does it mean to be alive?

Does this mean to be woven into the mesh of others, or does this mean to be free from the dependency of people, places and things?
Does being alive mean finding peace in solitude over the need to be included or involved?
Or does living mean to be free from the fear of rejection or the need for attraction?

Does this mean being free from the ideas of rejection or rejective thinking?
Of course.
To be alive, or to be present, to be grounded and to be clear, as if to live with an unmuddied judgment of “self.” To be rid of our personal inaccuracies, due to clouded memories or recollections that take us to times when we assumed, “I just don’t fit in.”
Even more, to be alive, as if to be untouchable but not unreachable, or to be alive, as if to be impenetrable, but not untouched by the wonders of emotion . . .
Is this what it means to live?

Or does being alive mean to be comfortable, regardless of chaos from crowds or despite the toxins of one or plenty; but more, is the meaning of life to celebrate the understanding of self, without the need for a savior or second person or the beating of another heart?

When we talk about what it means to be alive, does this mean that we have learned to celebrate presence over partnership?
I ask this honestly.
However, this is not to ignore the warmth of companionship or touch nor do I suggest that we detach from the beauty or the sanctity of love or connection.
No, I believe these things are as beautiful as daybreak and as loving as the sunset across a small town after a Sunday afternoon.
However, whether we are alone or entwined, the moonlight should still be enjoyed and the tiny pool, left over from the drink at the bottom of our glass is still a sign of enjoyment.

And, too, if love is to be the paramount or the saving grace of useless life, does being alive mean that we understand that love is not needed to find happiness, but shared, kindly and selflessly. By doing this, do we realize that life is meant to be lived, and not to be dependent?

Are we aware of the need to save our own lives, so that the endless void is neither filled nor fixed by another person, but completed in a shared solitude?
Love, as in, “real love” for “real life,” as if to be natural, unforced or uninvolved with fears that perhaps suggest the ideas of being enough. If so, if we are to find this balance; perhaps living is no longer connected by the thefts of joy, such as comparisons to others, or worries of being valid. Perhaps to be alive means to be enough.
We can avoid the fears of avoidance.
Perhaps being alive means to simply be present.

This is not to say that there is no joy amongst other people. But more, to live or to be alive means that there is no ache in the aloneness which is found when I am alone or by myself. This means not seeing threats each time the keeper of your heart walks away.

Perhaps living means understanding that the separation or the dishonesty of others are neither personal nor in need of our attention. Nor does this need the assignment of blame.
But more, these are tasks that are better left elsewhere.
Dissecting and overthinking is better left unexplored because once we travel this way, and once we open the door to fall down the bottomless hole of irrational thinking, sanity can unravel like a thread that continues to unweave.
It is easy to think our way into insane and irrational beliefs, and since the mind is always looking for an answer or since we are trying to assign blame or find accountability for heartbreak or emotional pain, it is easy to find ourselves going down the endless rabbit holes that can be infinite and lost, to which this is the thinking that leads to the belief of an internal lostness.
Or, inanity.

What does it mean to live?
Does this mean status?
Does this mean the big house or the right car?
Does this mean the right job and the right position?

Or does living mean that rather than being hinged upon our superficial successes, and despite the moments of financial poverties or personal hardships, does being alive mean that we have come to a level of homeostasis or balance?
So, therefore, instead of life balancing us with favors or equal misfortune, being alive and being present means that we balance our life by not being dependent on outcomes.

Life . . .
It is new to me, every day. I am new to you, now, and more so, I am new to myself and newer than before. To me, perhaps being alive means to come to the full-circle realization that my travels have always overlapped and thus, they have always led me to the exact place, which is where I belong.

Life . . .
As if to come to peace with the terms of an either-way outcome, and to be able to rise regardless to the times I have fallen.
To live, as in, to regain oneself and to continue and keep our personal composure; perhaps, this is all it takes to be alive.

There is no ego. There is no degradation of unhealthy pride. Rather than focusing on injustice, to live means to realize that fate is not personal, but an endlessly changing and ever-growing destiny that can blossom instead of fade into a state of disrepair.

Rather than overthink the unalterable or over-analyze the days behind us, perhaps it is best to see yesterday and the days before as a mausoleum which holds the tombs of our past —and, in fairness, some of our past is worth revisiting to remember. However, much of our past is like the old entombments of deaths that are better left where they are.

How can one achieve life or build or create, shape, or improve and transform their fate from catastrophe to happiness? How can this happen, unless we face the world ahead?
There is no way to do this without looking forward and being alive and in the moment.

How can we attack the unfortunate moments in front of us without the better narrative in our head?
The better narrative is the voice of truth and the voice of reason. Rather than having our ego distract us from our truth, which is about who we are, who we love, why we are afraid, how we’ve been hurt, life is nothing more than the bravest motion to step forward, regardless of our past.

In the beginning, I remember when I chose to attack this commitment to write my thoughts and keep a journal. I remember back when I started this, I wrote about the lesson I was taught on humility and modesty.
I was told that humility means to be honest and modesty is the absence of pride. So, please, let me take away the disguise for the moment.
Allow me to remove the mask. Allow me to come out from behind the curtain and stand before you, like this, both honest and modestly.

My love and my heart is true.
Anything else was only an act of fear; as in a fear of loss, or a fear of pain, a fear of rejection, or the worst fear of all which was to find out that no matter how much hope I have, I would never be enough
(for you).

I cannot hold the past anymore, nor can I fight, nor can I argue, nor can I sleep well, nor can I think clearly because I have been dying alive for way too long.
I want to live.
I want to choose life.
I want to understand the benefits of solitude or the perfection of absolute silence, so that when I breathe, or whisper, I can hear my own breath and not see this as unfortunate or lonesome.
But more, I want to allow myself the right to enjoy my personal space and not see myself as unwanted or unwelcomed.

I want to ride the wind. I want to enjoy the waves, like the ones in my dreams that wash upon the perfect shores, and whether the waves rise or fall, I will be okay, either way.

I want to live, which means that I have to be true to myself and true to my heart, which means that I cannot allow for substitution nor can I settle for something less than my truth or my dreams.
I need this to become my mantra because otherwise, I will only be failing myself by not being honest about who I am, why I am here and what my plans are to reach my higher ground.
I cannot settle nor allow myself to be shared unfairly.

To live is to be rid of the weights of external poisons, and to let go of the toxic lies, or to walk away from the demons with beautiful faces, which turned ugly beneath the lights of truth.
Let me be me.
You can be you, and either way, the world can be right as rain, and next, the internal drought can be cleansed and bathed in the freedom that I am no longer codependent or dependent about life beyond my control.

Let me live in the moment and enjoy this. Let me learn to celebrate the here and now. Above all, let me learn to live, which means that we do not live or dwell in the past misfortunes.
No, to be alive means that we are not connected to this anymore, that the past is gone, and that since we don’t live there anymore, to be alive means to be true to our best self and say yesterday is gone. Tomorrow is not here yet.
But right now?
Ah, this is the best part . . .
Right now is the best time to extend my hands to the greatness of the universe and grab hold of every possibility.

I have held my resentments for too long. I have lived in the past for long enough, and I have clung to my failures for so long that I never learned from them. Instead, the only lesson I learned was to fear them; and hence, this disallowed me the right to be modest or humble.

I cannot say that the world is a safe place, nor can I account for the number of times I have been hurt or account for the moments when I hurt you or someone else. But all of this is what I call dying alive. And, oh, this thing here?
This is about living.
I think you and I have died enough.

Now, is the time to live.

I’m ready when you are.