I totally relate to this.
Sorry if the text might sound weird in english i just used the translator from italian to english.
Does it ever happen to you, in the evening, when you get home, after spending an average of eleven hours out and coming back pretty exhausted, to look at yourself in the mirror, or while you're eating, or sprawled on the couch trying with your last bit of strength and only one eye to watch a movie, that you feel a small feeling of unease growing inside. Like something "out of place" stirring inside, which at first you don't quite understand, but which over time... transforms into a question: "What's the point?" I mean, I spend practically all my time every day doing things that, let's face it, I don't care about at all, with colleagues I didn't choose and could happily do without... all to bring home the bare necessities to pay for a life that essentially revolves around a job that's barely enough to allow me to do that same job I don't care about at all. I'm basically a mouse in a wheel, running like crazy, always trying to stay in the same place. I work so I can afford to go to work. I eat early, I sleep early... because I have to go to work... and so on for 40 years.
Meanwhile, life passes, you get older, you slow down, and aside from a few vacations here and there... if you look back, you have twenty thousand days that are all the same, in which you've spent a lifetime doing something that, if you could have chosen, you would never have done.
Doesn't it ever occur to you... "Holy shit... I'm really flushing this down the toilet"?
Meanwhile, I do. Absolutely.
And that's why I can't allow it (life) to take me wherever it wants, but no matter how difficult it is, no matter how much it costs me from a thousand perspectives, including my health, I can't give up, and until the very end I have a duty to myself to try to do what truly makes me happy, what I would do even for free (but without doing it for free, of course).
And I have to try until the very end; because it is and will always be better to have tried to the very end, maybe getting there, maybe even halfway there, than to look back, resigned, with my head bowed, shrugging and saying... "That's how it went."
But no.
Because even just one day of genuine happiness is better than a life with my head down.
Does it ever happen to you, in the evening, when you get home, after spending an average of eleven hours out and coming back pretty exhausted, to look at yourself in the mirror, or while you're eating, or sprawled on the couch trying with your last bit of strength and only one eye to watch a movie, that you feel a small feeling of unease growing inside. Like something "out of place" stirring inside, which at first you don't quite understand, but which over time... transforms into a question: "What's the point?" I mean, I spend practically all my time every day doing things that, let's face it, I don't care about at all, with colleagues I didn't choose and could happily do without... all to bring home the bare necessities to pay for a life that essentially revolves around a job that's barely enough to allow me to do that same job I don't care about at all. I'm basically a mouse in a wheel, running like crazy, always trying to stay in the same place. I work so I can afford to go to work. I eat early, I sleep early... because I have to go to work... and so on for 40 years.
Meanwhile, life passes, you get older, you slow down, and aside from a few vacations here and there... if you look back, you have twenty thousand days that are all the same, in which you've spent a lifetime doing something that, if you could have chosen, you would never have done.
Doesn't it ever occur to you... "Holy shit... I'm really flushing this down the toilet"?
Meanwhile, I do. Absolutely.
And that's why I can't allow it (life) to take me wherever it wants, but no matter how difficult it is, no matter how much it costs me from a thousand perspectives, including my health, I can't give up, and until the very end I have a duty to myself to try to do what truly makes me happy, what I would do even for free (but without doing it for free, of course).
And I have to try until the very end; because it is and will always be better to have tried to the very end, maybe getting there, maybe even halfway there, than to look back, resigned, with my head bowed, shrugging and saying... "That's how it went."
But no.
Because even just one day of genuine happiness is better than a life with my head down.
41-45, F
