Is there really happiness in self actualization further than something fleeting? Am I merely the cycle of my father restarting to the pretexts of an advancing generation?
I pondered these things as I rode home tonight in my metaphoric machine; its shining blue paint and once amphibious curves scarred by the marks of mistakes. It bears no shame of it’s stigmas, I have never placed much thought into restoring it to its original state. I have seen that unique blue as it chronicled the nights and hours of my lifetime through the pain, and the somehow conscious errors.
I have always known that the overt symbolism of the vehicle God never intended for me to be unaware. I remember the day I got it, studying the light ride up it’s chest, mature yet young and bold, not invincible yet regal with its power.
I have come to the point where I can see myself age, where I have noticed the speed of life. I can unfasten my seatbelt and move about the cabin now and look out the windows at the clouds up ahead. The wake of the ship is lucid, but running into old clouds shudders its wings. Still it remains strong soaring, I have never doubted its ability to fly; but the take off isn’t effortless.
I look in my mirror everyday and wonder if I am again summoning the discipline because I am truly in a place where I have realized the time has come to push myself to my goals, that they aren’t apples in the tree I sat in while the wind whistled through the crab apple blossoms hanging near by; that they are high like the bananas that grow in this southern state.
My father seems to be a happy man though I am unconvinced; I can see him sitting in the tomato vines drinking dry red wine sooner than I thought I would. I look at his hands I know one day sooner than I would like I will squeeze them with all the strength in my body, hoping to force the blood back into their tips.
I have never feared death because I know that this world is a test with no failing or passing grade; I know that I have to play the right way to win. My journey has always been on my own within my head, pulling air through a gas mask, hoisting weight above my head, or lying bleeding in the grass.
I believe in fate because there is not a thing on this earth that is without design, and I what am I to be an exception. I know that there will come a time when I only get weaker, when I cannot, and when I am unable.
I just hope that if I am to reach that time, happiness will yet covet the man who travels in a single trail of footsteps.