i was putting on mascara when it happened. as is usually the case, my mind was elsewhere - not on the mirror, not on the lashes, not on the freckles on my face (although there are more there than I would like). my mind was on autopilot, pursuing a question i've asked it countless times over the past few years, a query that my brain must surely find exhausting, poring over it in sleep and wake, at dinner and in traffic, in showers and at movies.
"what should I do with my life? no, really?" is it enough to earn enough to pay enough to eat enough? surely there is more to life than keeping flesh on my bones. surely there is more than the dread of the alarm clock and the half-asleep breakfasts, the post-work rants and the mindless, numbing repetition.
it's a deep, neverending longing that we all have - a search for passion, for purpose, and for joy. the search eludes me, and I ask my mind, beg it even, for an answer. my thoughts are like marbles in a washing machine - noisy and numerous. if there is enough heat, will they melt? nevertheless, the washing machine is tired and worn, with chipped paint and scratched metal.
my mind is acutely aware of all of this. of my frustration, my struggle, my aching need for fulfillment and meaning. so while i was gingerly coating these eyelashes, it was spitting out answers and blind ideas. what followed was a surge of inspiriation and excitement, a light in a maze that may lead nowhere, but is still worth following. the answer boils down to four things: to learn, to create, to travel, and to write.
