It struck me as curious how errors are called noise in statistics. What some people deem musical brilliance is offensive air polution to others. Noise, the imperfect periphery surrounding the goal, the wilderness of potential caveats outlining the path to the core.
So much noise lately in my life it seems… Is the impregnable resolve which appeared so cast iron merely paint on an aluminum frame? These questions flicker in my mind as I feel the puppeter of peer inspired assimilation holding more tension on the strings, more so than my own perception of just action.
My father wrote me a letter for my birthday in which he posed the question, always ask, what have I learned from the situation? I asked that of myself numerous times on my ride back to Tallahassee from Orlando, pondering my recent extreme detour from the path of the disciplined. My body is falling from its former state of turgid muscularity. My mind is clouded by the constant application of altering substances.
Guilty by association? I think I have long reveled in the company of underachievers, yet I felt not stymied by their influence. With the fox in exile at her home down south I feel as if I must return to my cave and ponder. How am I to return to the path which I have chosen? The path of success and achievement.
Where is the exit from this wilderness that I have self imposed. Sunday, the last of the break, I will start slashing with a machete.
Financial, Mental, Physical. I must regain, and evolve further.