The world demanded complexity because simplicity made it uncomfortable. Things, simple things, like living properly, were impossible to comprehend unless you committed a sort of social treason, refusing to conform to the accepted criteria toward it. As you found your way into greener pastures and flowering fields, they often asked how you arrived there. And when you told them the answer was nothing, they did not understand. They wanted a ten-point guide and a seven-step plan, but there was absolutely nothing to it. The fact that the answer was as simple as stopping to look around now and then did not sit well. The machinations and forced intricacies of the modern age make it impossible for simple things to exist, yet they do exist. Some of us keep them alive.
There is little else I can think of as I have finally started to breathe after spending months building a life as simple as I can at the moment. Perhaps, one would say, I have become complacent, but for what? I do not yet know. For most of my life, I have chased myself; I could always see myself—a better myself—walking ahead. I would always run behind it, and I would always stumble and fall short. In many ways, I have always wanted to become who I knew I could be, and I have reached a semblance of it in more than one way. I don’t know if this is a temporary respite from a lifelong chase, but for the first time in my life, I am not running. I hope these days are not numbered. All the surety I demanded from others, I was only meant to find. All this grief I now understand so well, I was only supposed to leave behind.
And so when someone asks me how I got here, and I tell them I arrived when I stopped running, they think it to be a riddle or some sort of jest, but it is the only truth I know. Until we stop running to catch our breath, or altogether, we cannot see where we are. Most happiness is passed in a blur when we zoom past everything; most life, too.