I’m writing, right now, just to write.
Because writing, right now, feels right.
Imagine, with me, a world where no one ever struggled with purpose. Where no one ever wondered, what am i supposed to do today? Where no one ever wondered what they were going to do tomorrow.
Imagine, no confusion. No loss for words. No pain at loss of worth.
Imagine that world, was already here among us.
Imagine we just fail to see it.
Would we struggle with depression, would we struggle with anxiety, would we struggle with the pain of ‘no purpose’… If we knew, the depression, anxiety, and pain, were in fact our very purpose?
A tree does not struggle with losing its leaves. Losing its leaves is part of its very purpose. A tree cries, tears of blood, glowing red on the way to the ground. Over time its’ tears become exactly what the tree was needing all along. In doing so, the tree provides for everything around it, simultaneously saving its own life, and yours.
Nobody ever notices a tree, until it changes colors.
Nobody appreciates a tree, until it has learned to cry.