An over-examined life

… Even when I was sat there, watching that bird, I was thinking to myself: who should I tell about this? It struck me as very much like something out of a book. I don’t know if that’s piteous or not, that I can’t quite live in the moment, even these days.

Mind you, ten years ago, I’d have been off that very afternoon, trying to find a quiet place so I could write it all down. Because ten years ago I’d have always had a pad and a pen with me, to do that very thing. Condense it into a blogpost. Turn it into something with a moral. Pin the butterfly, before it’s even finished flapping its wings.

Where did that hunger go, I wonder? I can’t say I really miss it: but I do worry that nothing has taken its place; nothing except for the complacency of middle-class ageing, and a slightly rounder tummy.

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This entry was posted in age, art, belief, biography, emotions, entertainment, fear, identity, made_our_own_fun, meta, occupation, person, understanding, writing. Bookmark the permalink.

3 Responses to An over-examined life

  1. Anytime one passion leaves us, there is another to take its place. It’s out there somewhere, you just have to find it. (-: Best wishes!

    • smallbeds says:

      Thanks for the kind words. I think also one engages with things differently as one grows older, though: certainly there was a time when writing was indeed a passion, a passion which I suffered; arguably it was only when I stopped suffering for it, that I was able to get a few self-published pieces out.

      I think simple, zesty enthusiasm is far preferable to passion, any day: I just hope I at least still have it, kicking around somewhere.

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