Don’t Ask Me To Look at the Moon
by Trevor Washington
I want to take pleasure in the little things, but the Washingtons aren’t a stop-and-smell-the-roses kind of people. We breathe work, because we’ve always defined ourselves as the ones who are going to get things done. We’re the ones that don’t have time to stop and have a conversation, because the world is revolving around whether our deadlines are met, and those deadlines are never the one’s given by others, but the ones we have set upon ourselves, always days earlier than what was expected of us.
I’m not someone who looks at the moon. Please don’t ask me to turn my head skyward. I have an internal clock that keeps ticking away, driving me forward to the next important item on my agenda, and so I take no pleasure in taking those seconds to look up. I just don’t. It’s not in me. Others see beauty in the little things, in the moments in between the moments, in taking a breath. In enjoying just being. But, I don’t want to breathe I want to live without air, without hope, without time. I want to make my own destiny, to rock my own world. Other’s, they want to take it all in, every poetic morsel of nothingness. I feel dirty when I take it all in.
Yes, I am laughing at myself. No, this is not a joke.
As much as I respect their light, I am not a person that can pontificate an endless twitter stream dedicated to unicorns and rainbows. I can’t pretend either. I like politics. I like action. I like to be entertained by possibilities of high-risk high reward take-no-prisoners chances. I like to be in the flow of chaos. I have a fire in me that can only be cooled by climbing to the mountaintop and looking down at the madness that I’ve overcome.
Chaos is beautiful to me. The silence, the stillness, of moons and rainbows, makes me uncomfortable. It makes me feel like I’m staring at a woman in a short skirt as she walks down the street. I wasn’t raised like that. I don’t turn my eyes towards such things. It is not proper etiquette in my keep-your-nose-to-the-grindstone world.
Don’t ask me to smell a flower, or a great meal. I don’t smell my food I eat it. It’s a means to an end. I don’t live to eat, but eat to live. I’m not a foodie. I can’t even say the word foodie out loud. I’m not sure that I’ve even met one before as we probably move on different wavelengths. I can’t act like what I’m eating is the greatest thing I’ve ever tasted. I can’t rub my stomach or moan in ecstasy. I like to eat alone. I don’t like people to see me when I eat. It makes me feel dirty inside.
I walk with purpose. My purpose is to be greater than the sum of my parts. My purpose forgets about the little things, the beautiful things, as it is wrapped up in being more than. I want to be more than the pain in my knees and my back. I want to be more than the thoughts in my head that flows after whatever it sees. My purpose keeps my eyes towards a goal of being more than.
To me, it is a divine goal. To other’s it is missing out on the little things. That is fine with me. We were not all meant to go on about unicorns and rainbows. Those are for the beautiful at heart, the innocent ones. I am not an innocent. I can’t revel in simple pleasures. I need more. I need to be more. I need to strive after.
I don’t need to finish sentences when they must remain incomplete. For I need to strive after. It doesn’t matter what. Strive is not a verb for me, but a noun, complete in and of itself. It is what I’m about. It is my purpose. Not to strive after something, but to strive. To strive, for me is to be alive.
This is not a lesson for you – in case you were confused. I would never ask another to fill these unsatisfied-by-the-little-things shoes. It is not a world that you need to walk in. But, it is my world, and I am happy there. And we can be happy together. Just don’t ask me to look at the moon.
– Don’t look, for you’ll never find me.
Written for Walking With Intention. If you’d like to be a part of the challenge, find more info here: Walking With Intention. But first, leave a comment and let Trevor know how you feel about what he said.