With one foot in – and one foot out – of this thing that is life, I am only just beginning to realise the complexities, and the extent to which we are all just muddling along and trying to make the best of what we’ve got.
That we start, not as a blank canvas, but as a sketched outline, already shaded and shaped by the people that went before us – and those that preceded them; and, that the final masterpiece rarely resembles the vision but is, instead, a mishmash of the truths and illusions and feelings and experiences that we’ve picked up along the way.
That we are never really this – or that – but a blur somewhere in the middle that glimmers, golden, from one perspective, but turns a steely grey if you move an inch; and, that, in those minute fractions of distance, are a hundred million possibilities that, butterfly-wing-like, change our worlds–
Because, really, this thing called life, is just a series of seized and lost opportunities, and sliding doors and disappearing exits, and a confusing jumble of chances and choices and consequences that you can either dive into – or skirt around the edge of –
And, ultimately, the picture that we end up with will never be completed and will seldom be a reflection of just ourselves; but will, instead, be a muddle of colours that represents the feelings and experiences and people that shape and animate our lives –
If we’re prepared to accept the confusion –
and throw caution to the complexity –
and jump straight in.