Weightless

I am back in the land of the free, yet all I feel is an uneasy feeling of nonchalance. I travel, and I feel like I know the world. I feel like I can live and breathe to my own rhythm. It's existing at its finest.  

I recently shared my future plans of backpacking, and the feedback I received was positive from everyone except from the person I needed it most. It's always a battle, leaving us more distant than the previous encounter. 

I had a conversation this week which made me realize the transition I am experiencing with the people I once considered authority figures in my life. As I age, these people feel more like my peers, and every bit of advice I receive I filter in order to apply what is applicable to my specific needs. 

I don't want to live my life for anyone but myself. I know it sounds narcissistic, but for the first time I think that is the way it should be. I want to be weightless, but how can I be gravity's assailant with any baggage? Maybe the support I need has to come from a place within myself so I can float on. 

Beautiful Strangers

Last night I went to this swanky jazz club in the heart of Madrid. There, I experienced the lyrical genius of two Spanish senoritas, the rhythmical charisma of three young tap dancers and the soul of a committed bunch of musicians performing to the tempo of their fervency. They all seemed to be doing just what they ought. I watched. I envied. They exuded happiness I couldn't understand.

There they were, a collection of talented strangers, fulfilling their purpose. Not saving the world, but exuding an aura that touched me, making me question the things I care about. I talk. And I write. Then I wonder how much I act. Here are these people leaving an imprint (on me, maybe even the world in the grand scheme of things) doing what they do, and I'm here taking notes.

I think sometimes we seek in others what we can't deliver because we yearn for the talent we wish we had, anything that says I'm great at what I do. I ask myself where this talent exists in my life, and all I see is staggering nothingness.

On a scale of one to twenty something, twenty something being mission accomplished, I'd say I'm a solid six for my ambition. This makes me wonder if I should be a little less concerned with saving the world. Maybe I just need to do me.