31 Oct 2007

Today is the greatest day I've ever known...

I figured when I returned from Switzerland I'd discover life is the same. No changes. No wins. No losses. I figured I'd stop writing in this blog because I don't need to. No one cares what I am doing back in America. "Been there, done that, bud. Now Europe, that's excitement." Well, you're right. You don't care what I'm doing here. I haven't taken a picture since August. Maybe before. I haven't ventured anywhere worth mentioning. And I sure haven't done a damned thing that's been exciting.

But I'm here. And I've written a few posts. Why did I pick this back up? Well, I've come close to running out of room in my journal, for starters (go ahead, poke and prod--I keep a journal). I've lived more now than I did in all my time abroad. I know there were so many experiences over there that I will never forget--and I never want to. I wont forget those people (I do, however, wish I could forget some of them ::ahem, ahem::), those places, or those events. But I've learned so much more about life. What happens when dreams disappear and reality slaps you in the face, be it positive or negative? What happens when you realize that you don't actually know everything? Or when people get sick of hearing what you have to say about gay Paris?

So I come here and write. I write what I want, when I want to. I think of something that makes my day seem better and remember that people only care about misery. So I don't write that down. On the other hand, say, if something were to be a bummer, you'd love it. But you don't have to read it. In fact, I'm not asking you to. But people have been checking up on me, nonetheless. How do I know? Because I have this nifty little gadget that is coded into my blog that tells me who is reading my blog. State. County. House. Ok, not house. But close enough that I can figure it out if I really care (which I don't, lucky for you). I even know your internet service provider (ISP for short).

So I will impart this wisdom upon thee. For free, mind you. So if you don't like it, I don't want to hear it. If you do, I suppose I wouldn't reject a donation (or a headrub [males need not apply]). Oh, and I'm sorry for all of you _____ (insert your book of faith there) thumpers out there who disagree with me. I don't care.

Here goes nothing--or everything.

You live your life because you want to. If you didn't want to, you'd end it. You make every decision conscious of the two possible outcomes: failure and success. You know the ramifications of that decision and the possible outcomes before you do it. But you make those decisions anyway. You will fail. I once had a teacher that told me two things in life are inevitable: failure and death. He also said you need to make sure that you don't look at your life as the former while doing the latter.

But you will fail. And that's ok. You will survive and look back on it as a 'learning experience'. The pain will never really go away, though. It just subdues itself naturally until some memory rehashes it. And it's not about the failure. It's about the success you achieve after overcoming the failure. After you pick yourself back up, you brush yourself off, and laugh at those who scoffed you for trying in the first place. Yes, they were right this time--but there's always the next.

On the sweeter side sits the worse of the two outcomes. Success. Yes, we all wish and hope that we will be successful; hopefully, some of us actually are. But what if every decision you made was the right one? You'd be on top of the world--with nothing to live for. But success in small doses is an amazing thing. Amazingly scary, but amazing.

And so with each decision we make we plug our nose and leap from the bridge knowing we will either sink or swim (or hold our breath for a long damned time). We pray to find our way to the surface, yet secretly wish to sink like a brick knowing that it will be easier to fail than to succeed. We hope to find our way with the least resistance as possible; search blindly for the hand to grab in the darkness. Yet we do not realize that the hand is not there. The resistance is self-induced. And we, we my friends, must do it ourselves.