For a lack of something better to do…
I have finally admitted to myself what it is that I should be doing with my time. I say admitted since it is not precisely a new revelation, but just one that I seem unable to talk myself out of…
I have very little self-confidence, even in my fluffiest moments, but no matter how destructive that internal virgoan critic, no matter how much homage I pay to others, I simply am unable to think of something better to do with my time. Or should I say something I would *rather* be doing with my time. There are many better things to do, for example, attaining enlightenment, devoting my life to saving children or near extinct plants and animals. Yes, I can think of nothing I would rather be doing, unless of course, someone happens to know of a way to support oneself by reading books…
So what am else am I to do..? I suppose I could pursue an uninteresting horizon with confidence but I don’t have the heart to do that to myself. I could continue to drift doing nothing of much and something of everything, but I have been doing that for a long time now and it leaves me unfulfilled. I could be a better person and do one of the above listed things, but somehow I feel I would be doing myself a disservice. Yes, I am that selfish…
So I find myself back at my first, confidence free choice. I find that simply for a lack of choice, simply for a lack of extensive interests, simply for a lack of imagination, simply for a lack of something better to do, I find myself communing with butterflies, sweaty palms, silence and that thing that I would never have the courage to choose for itself…
Sometimes there is just no running away from anything…
