control at rest

We share a stasis of sorts; a lethargy of motion. We are not meant to be standing still, and because of this, we feel it as a relentless
stirring as life brushes past us.

Unfortunately, it is not moving that is required. It is movement under the right motivation.

A dilemma, if you will: what to do when the act that began as a new challenge becomes routine? Aside from the obvious answers (approaching said challenge from new angles, finding some aspect that is exciting to re-engage interest, etc.), all of which are designed to prolong, but not ultimately fix, the issue.

Let me be honest. I do not think there is a fix. I am simply not content to be content.

Because, at heart, I require challenges in my life. When dealing with challenges, stress is applied, the ligaments of life are stretched and I am forced to react, to fight, to bare my teeth and be more than a stationary object.

Given one role, should it be so easy to face it forward? Should we write fiction to mirror what we want in life, or live our lives like the fiction we want to write?

6 thoughts on “control at rest”

  1. This post hits me quite personally. Quite. And because of that, I will respectfully offer this:

    Concerning your concluding question in this post… I’m guessing you’ve already made your choice, made it long ago in fact (whether you know it or not).

    It’s all fiction. And, it’s all life. Know what I mean?

  2. Some of us long to live the fantasies, and ignore the consequences. To live in the moment, to surrender to the baser instincts, to stand within the fire and think only of the pleasure and the heat, caring not if we are burned.

    Were life only that simple.

  3. Monday i begin a new part of my life..without any promises made except to live the fantasy and burn if need be, this struck me as a timely post.
    I tend to live my life like the fiction I cannot write.. but love to read.

  4. Unlike the rock carried along in the ever flowing stream, we are mutable. As the stream changes, we change. The warrior you were a year ago is a shadow of who you have become, and that self is but the restless dreams you had of becoming from years before.

    We are indeed the authors of our lives. And it is a moment by moment decision to write the coming scene in drama, pathos, or slapstick.

    It is simply easier to do rewrites in fiction.

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