They kept telling me I’d go a long way. I’m not sure what they meant. I didn’t want to go anywhere. I was exhausted; I wonder why they could never tell.
I wanted to sit in one place. I didn’t care about going anywhere. What was our obsession with getting somewhere anyway? Even if I did want to go somewhere, I couldn’t see the road. They kept telling me it was a long way to go, but to where, I wondered, and why, I asked, and how, I thought, will I find the road?
I saw a thousand roads. All of them leading to exciting places, but none of them enticing enough to start walking on. I didn’t want to get anywhere. I wasn’t in a rush, and I had no goals. No real ones, at least. I craved no job, no car, no mansion.
It wasn’t for privilege either. I wasn’t born in a lot of material wealth. I just couldn’t care. If I could, I would take the things people liked so much about me and send them over as a present, neatly wrapped. The card would read:
Here’s a boxful of my burden of pointless potential. I believe you’ll find better use for it.
When you carry it, you’ll too feel the soft madness; the inner chaos of being defined by the few things you managed to do moderately well; the frustration of never knowing what you wanted; the pain of always learning things a bit too late.
I hope you feel the hurt of loving people but never fully letting them in. I hope you experience the anxiety of never being good enough, and then learning your fear wasn’t irrational at all. Perhaps, you’ll feel the weight that never lets you off the floor for too long. Or, look at yourself and feel the burning cocktail of guilt and comfort.
I hope you feel the desperation of wanting to feed on the few scraps of care, help and attention you get, and the exhausting pride of not accepting them anyway. I hope you stare blankly at the crossroads of infinite paths. I hope you too grab at your hair, chuckle and sigh when they say you’ll go places.
Places? You’ll never be able to get out of your head.