Settling on a vision of a green knoll with a cabin resting peacefully beneath a majestic mountain range, this tugs at a supremely tough continence. Sounds are mostly the rustling of the wind, a few tweets of birds flying in a carefree dance. Having complete solitude to do some real writing without any distraction, taking breaks to cook simple meals now that would be paradise. All the demands of making money without any opportunity for advancement - that would be the first thing to hit the hefty waste bin. Waking up in the morning in a single room with windows streaming the daylight of a new day of possibilities, a blue sky with a few puffy clouds, contemplating how to lay down the notes of a lifetime all over a cup of coffee, bacon, and eggs that is this simple man's pleasure.
Just living for livings sake would be something that is now only a dream. Composing written works of art, beauty, and sheer happiness that someone would read, spending endless hours flowing across a steady stream of accomplishment, now that would be bliss.
Sharing this enjoyment with someone might be an option. Not even sure there would be room for even that - maybe a perfectly attuned personality might work. Problem with that complication is some of the best works would never be realized. Spending too much time not being immersed in ideas would mean many productive moments would be missed. Back to the beginning, would start all over with a new dream. That is the conceivable outcome.
Purple swipes of insight, a revolutionary demeanor is never a sought after vocation. We only put on the cloak of a radical when the predictable is unacceptable. Afraid not much time remains to snatch those few happy moments before traveling down that white hole surrounded by darkness - now this is a cruel revelation. Too little lucky grabs are left. Far fewer are now possible. Selfish we all are to a degree.
Tomorrow will require more commitment. The power of an irrepressible spirit will return. More work must be done.
Speaking of work, there just is not any other vocation that is truly enjoyable but writing. Few of us elaborate free-form without outlines. Like all planning, serious contemplation bewilders those who want to strictly create. Problem is no rhythm or reason buries us under many of those irretrievable years. The most we can hope for is uncomplicated happiness even though extremely rare.
Flying with those birds over the many green pastures of youth to a crystal blue lake - please don't shake to hard bringing back that searing reality. This must be temporary. This slip on that psychological banana peel that sprawls us across the floor happens periodically - admit it. We brush ourselves off, leaving these murky moods behind, and carry on down our well-worn ruts. Finding other simple pleasures carry us through to the next day.
Doing time that is what most of us do. A prisoner's sojourn is typically our only reprieve from building a future most will never live to enjoy. Now that is humanity. Community nurtured mostly for the benefit of those who will follow. Maybe they will be able to enjoy the cabin that is waiting in that currently unrealizable crisp morning in April?
Emotions intrude to embellish all our aspirations and undertakings. Beauty is our humanity that surpasses any cabin's exquisite natural setting. We are the destiny. We set those passionate expressions that define our legacy. That is our unique blessing.