Why.

Tonight as I procrastinate my bed time yet again, I’m contemplating the things that I wish could be normal every-day conversation. Things that are wholesome and good…discussions on colors and favorite things, the joys of life and the certainty of death, existence…It seems like we all talk in pre-written scripts and I hate that. It all seems fake and, at the risk of sounding like Holden Caulfield, phony. Here I stand on the corner of hypocrisy and yearning…waiting instead of moving; watching instead of living. Sometimes it feels lonely to be in a world where deep connection seems lost. It can feel even lonelier when you try to figure out your place in a society that you honestly want nothing to do with in the first place. I know I’m not giving things enough time to blossom into the fullness of the deep. I guess I’m just unsure how to get to that place in a world that dismisses a person who goes off script. I don’t want to read someone else’s words for me. I want to speak my own.

Why are we like this? How did we get here?