I’m not sure what I’m supposed to be doing. Maybe “supposed to" is the whole problem in the first place. Maybe I’ve got some bullshit idea about fate, or my own entitlement or something like that. I’m not really sure.

Doing the jobs that other people said I should do, or that are considered “normal” has never really brought me lasting happiness. Now that I’ve taken the leap for the third time, quitting my normal job for a shot at entrepreneurship, I just don’t see how I can go back to doing something that doesn’t allow me to exercise my full potential as a thinker yet again.

I know the world doesn’t really own me or owe me anything. At least, I think I do. But maybe that’s not true. Maybe too many people told me I was special and that I can do whatever I want when I was a kid. I know I’m talented, in many ways actually. But there are a lot of talented people out there that shit just does not work out for. That’s the reality. Regardless of what the new age self-help gurus raking in millions may say.

So as I’m stuck at this crossroads, of having had the best summer of my life, meeting Roger Ver, meeting Ned from Steemit, doing interviews, volunteering at the free school down the road, and making more Voluntaryist content than ever, I have this inclination to look to the sky and ask that silly and clichéd question “God! What the fuck is going on here!? I thought there was some sort of plan!" Lol. Truth be told, that would make me just as claustrophobic. Some preset "plan" in concrete.

I try not to be religious anymore, but perhaps some of those programmed beliefs remain: that if you’re good and talented and work hard things will eventually work out for you. But some people get hit by cars. Some people get cancer. A ton of genius fucking bands never get record deals. Artists who now sell paintings for millions never made a cent in their lifetimes hundreds of years ago. What the fuck? Sometimes it seems like a cruel joke, hey?

My life and its direction is entirely up to me, but that seems to be the problem. I’m wandering around on the deck of the ship not sure where the fuck to steer it. I’ve already set off from land. It’s way the fuck back there, and to go back would cause me to die inside a little bit, and that’s not something that I want to sacrifice. My own life.

Is this all it is? Ups and downs and repeating cycles and seeming like you’re getting closer and closer to some vague ethereal ideal, just to realize at the end that you missed the actual treasure of the NOW experience of life, and that the chase was mostly just bullshit? Fuck man. I don’t know. But without that vision, nobody would fucking move forward.

I guess it's about as pointless as asking, why does a butterfly, fly? It just does.

All I know is I see talentless hacks doing fucking great, while a bunch of folks that got something to say seem to get smacked down over and over. But I guess maybe I’m complaining now, so I should just shut up, buckle down, and keep pushing forward.

I’ve tried this 1 million times and I’ll try 20 million more, I suppose, in my life. I'll probably die a “failure" by the world's standards. Well, I guess I mean by the materialistic culture's standards. I know I’m not a failure. I just can’t understand why shit doesn’t seem to work out for me. I’ve eaten my share of shit. I’ve jumped off the cliff several times. Where is my gust of wind?

I guess I need to get myself busy creating that. Finding the right cliff. Maybe I'm hang-gliding in the wrong fucking spot. I sure feel like I am in the right place, though, with the right people, doing the right thing. MORE THAN EVER IN MY LIFE. MORE THAN EVER. Jesus fuck, man. I have been so grateful this past year. Now. To just keep gliding and not eat shit while the winds are low...

~KafkA

!

---

Graham Smith is a Voluntaryist activist, creator, and peaceful parent residing in Niigata City, Japan. Graham runs the "Voluntary Japan" online initiative with a presence here on Steem, as well as DLive and Twitter. (Hit me up so I can stop talking about myself in the third person!)