A few words quietly typed out – I struggle to find my place, find clarity.
I wonder where I am sometimes. It’s strange to steal away these few moments, furtively typing on this machine for no one. Isolation is at times tremendous, and all the more curious, I’m sometimes left unaffected by this.
The strangest thing of all is that I do so little to change. I think again of how my life might pass me by. Sometimes I stand at a distance even to this thought – and then, with cold blood I wonder, maybe there is no saving… me?
Deus ex machina. Something to pull me out of this general morass. My life does seem to be in many ways what I’d feared it might become when I was younger. Giving myself over to something I don’t believe in strongly, something less than ideal. Going through the motions. Making decisions based on appearance.
The struggle to find an authentic self. These words don’t reverberate here. They appear limp, they fall flat and sound false, or worse, somewhat grating. There’s barely time for melancholy given this drudgery – the day to exigencies and all the little trifles that need to be accomplished post haste.
Who is this life for? Who could it be for? I can’t say it’s necessary, but still I’m here. Let this be a curious question, let this be a question I could give myself over to.
Sudden moment of apparent clarity, and things don’t seem so bad.
There are few people here I can identify with, in a deep sense. Chums, acquaintances, all nice people by and large – of course they couldn’t be anything but given the situations – but perhaps few enduring connections.
It isn’t the isolation necessarily – more so the drudgery, the lack of fulfillment that comes from the work. Yes, I think I’m prepared to say that. Little glimpses of honesty, more honest moments. Maybe I’ve just been approximating the wrong form, ein falsches vorbild. Educator is by no means as base, but I wonder how often I leave my students with a sense of wonder. How artificial our setting often seems as well.
Anyways, things seemed to have begun to sputter somewhat. I don’t know who I write to – but I see a few of you.
In this moment, my love to you.
(Written from my desk)