Sorry to Spoil it For You, but I Die in the End

the world goes on

the world goes on

Did you know that it rains almost every afternoon here in the Blue Ridge Mountains, and that bear hunting season is from November through January 2nd? Did you know that these forests have gross centipedes and tons of bugs and flies and rhododendrons whose white flowers then turn a sickly gold color when they fall off?

Did you know that (some) people from the south add the prefix Miss to first names of women, so Emily becomes Miss Emily and Myra becomes Miss Myra? Well it’s true. It’s all true.

It’s hard to know what to believe sometimes, or what’s worth taking a stand on. Hard to know where the truth can be found or where you’re better off just picking an opinion and justifying it with whatever you have at hand though in the end you know it’s just your gut that tells you so.

What is young? What is old? Is there only younger and older or are old and young set in stone, or are those things you tell yourself to make sense of how you feel? How much of me is tied to my body and my ability to do things like sleep on the bus for 3 hours and then spend an entire day walking around a new city? If I can’t do that anymore, am I still me?

When is the right time to be afraid? What is there to be afraid of? Has fear ever helped me become more of the person that I want to be?

Where are the limits to my own crapabilities?

I looked out over the Blue Ridge Mountains today, over Buncombe county and I saw the rolling blue peaks and the sun rising over them and a cloudy sky that looked kind of like water. I wanted to feel at peace and to feel serene like everything was going to be okay. When I was younger, I used to be able to do that, to zoom out until I was looking down at myself from the stars and I was so tiny and everything was going to be okay because the world would go on after I was gone.

Now that I’ve gotten older, it’s harder to zoom out, to remember how fast this life will go by and how my to-do list and goals and priorities will go away just as fast as I will. As I’ve grown older, so has my sense of self-importance.

There’s so much to know, but I will only know some of it. There’s so much to see, but I will only see some of it. And the world will go on as usual.

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