Your life is not measured by the amount of breaths you take, rather the things that take your breath away”. I’ve always loved this quote, loved the way it sounded in my own voice, loved the way it played out on another’s face as I had told them. Although I never really grasped what it meant, I knew it was deep and did the trick when I needed to provide a quote for a questionnaire. That it would give that certain “je ne sais quoi” I was searching for to encapsulate my ambitions and hopes as a person, although I envy the innocence of the thought and slipshod way of defining myself back then. I now understand a task like that would send me into spiraling self reflection, and an empty corner to stand in as I vex myself into every philosophical conversation I could insert myself into. The question of “Who I am” is one that proves fluid by each passing day, a fluidity that imbues every spark of creativity in my being not to answer or somehow document. Like a bee captivated by the falling rain, but fearful of its ignorance of it and sheer size alone of every drop.
I began my life’s journey hitting a couple potholes along the way, ones I wouldn’t have otherwise been aware I was hitting until the effects began to express themselves in other ways inside my day to day life. Your mind is a powerful thing, one that can allow you to believe in the bitterest and dismal things. I found myself afraid, disheartened by the world around me, afraid it’s touch would not be a gentle one so it never recieved mine. The idea of controlled environments and expected hours, days, weeks, seemed a simple solution for the dismay its counterpart gave me. In a hallway once ample with doors, now implored a much more ominous display, one that if I stared long enough down I wouldn’t be happy with what I found staring back at me. The little things that would frame the smile on my face, now served as example that wasn’t available to me. The question of who I was was no longer a question I was eager to answer, as I knew the person I loved being no longer was an option to be.
I’ve never believed in consequences, I’ve always exercised the idea that everything happens for a reason. One that appeared to be possible only by incantation or prophecy. However now proves more solidity than the comfort the previous thought provided me. I find myself entranced by the mystery of everyday life, that there lies a magic deeper than the surface of just everyday skepticism. A wonder I would’ve otherwise been too cautionary to contend, but one that now gives me sense of wholeness, rather a heightened morale. One that acts as a faith, and gives me the same humility and direction. And one that encourages me to revel in the everyday, and anticipate the unlikely. I feel an obligation to share the compassion and interaction I feel daily, to interpret the accidental revelations that send me into almost mad momentary genius. Provide me with a third party to settle the debate; is it naive or a rare cultivation? An all together almost primal, rather, righteous venture.
Life is a wanderlust, and one I am set on sightseeing. For when my last breath is taken, I’ll be ready for the next expedition before myself. I won’t be afraid, I will be consentingly keen, with pen in hand, and the memory of a woman who will forever leave me changed: Jenn Marshall.