‘Tis the season of discontent. Where life hints to you, via crisp clear skies. A touch from a falling leaf, a whisper in your ear from a breeze from far away, through a mass of ever changing colour, pouring in through your eyes as you gaze at this beautiful world.
An uneasy feeling. Jarring in your bones. Turn away from the window and shake your head. What is it?
A nagging, persistent something, a sixth sense, defying everyday banalities. As trees turn, that spectacular golden array burning in the sun, that smell of comfort and closeness and all the coziness of a winter to come.
It’s 6.45am. I stand in my garden, on the stone path in my bare feet. I stare at the technicolour sky, huge and awe-inspiring and stretching out, endless above me. The day whispers to me. A promise. A knowledge. It hits me.
Life. It is about happiness and finding your own way and not living by someone else’s rules. One life. A terrifying thought but at the same time a clear pathway. An anger, that it is seen as normal to do something you hate for the best years of your life so you can earn the right, when you’re old and creaky and in pain, to be able to afford for someone to stick you in a home where you can sit and look at a perfect garden through a pane of glass and sit, stifled, and wonder what it was to be free.
Who dares to tell me what I should do? With my life? With my thoughts? Why should I try and earn more and more to stick in an account with some bank so that I can get a house that is too big and a car I don’t need and a lump sum that may or may not be given back to me when I have worked myself to the ground in 40 more years? The dream, the status, the cash….it is sickening. We are sickening.
What happened to community? What happened to happiness? What happened to really, really, honestly living your life the way you really want to? Do we need to pay the bills? Do we even need the bills we pay?
I would write. I would drink coffee, debating with interesting, passionate people over fresh pastries. I would sleep. I would play music. I would create and sing and walk and sit up a mountain. I would grow food and wander barefoot along the beach. I would watch and run, wild-haired, through thunderstorms, rain stinging against my skin.
I would earn a little, work a little. I would take off and explore the world, whenever I felt the whim. I would answer to no-one. I should not have to.
Oh, so they frown. So they say plan for the future. But retirement does not figure in my world. Just life. Just one long life full of love and sunshine and adventure. So they tut and roll their eyes and giggle snidely into their little 3 inch glowing screens. Deaf to the message that floats in the breeze. Unseeing of the years of wonder hidden in rocks and mountains. Gliding on by, on Tarmac roads, in beige comfort, in singular temperature, in ignorance of the choice available.
Norms, rules, false reality. Constructed by the eternally boring, for the eternally boring. Look. Live. Learn. Love.