On “following your heart”

I read a note today, to follow your heart. It made me wonder how do you know what your heart is telling you? How do you decipher what your passions and interests are in a world so vast and varied. I have found that I can hardly maintain a single focus in my life as I am constantly being pulled every which way. Maybe it is more a testament to who I am as a person rather than who we are as beings, but it sure as hell makes “following one’s heart” difficult. “Where does my heart lie?” I ask you. And is its resting spot immutable? Or does it shift constantly, randomly.

I often wonder if those individuals who profess to having found their calling are lying to themselves. How can one be so fixated on one aspect of life to have no interest in anything else? I can only imagine it takes a great narrow-mindedness that is absolutely foreign to me. Yet I cannot discount the possibility that perhaps these individuals are not tricking themselves. It may very well be that they have found some peace and are happy. If that is the case I suppose I ought to be jealous. But I’m not sure that I am. I feel that so much is lost in living such a life.

In order to explore this question I suppose I would have to explore the minds of countless people. Naturally, I have a hunch that the most enlightening perspectives will come from those who have lived the longest. Having experienced so much and, hopefully, explored their curiosities, they will help me understand this question of what it means to follow ones heart. It means little to me at my age, but I don’t think age should necessarily be the deciding factor in ones wisdom. Even with that notion though, I wonder how an individual in their twenties can say such a thing as “follow you heart”. But I guess if I can sit here and ponder its meaning (being in my twenties myself), it is entirely possible. And truthful at that.


Frantic state of mind

Rambling… rambling… rambling… incessant rambling. The thoughts race through my head, recurring again and again, yelling why? Why? How could you? My world is crashing down out of an instant, falling apart in every which direction, leaving me suspended, buoyed, bouncing around in the void. The world outside, it’s untouchable. They see me. But they don’t really see me. They see something of me, a part of me, a part that I cannot see. I know it’s there, I know it exists, but I just can’t see it. It’s their perspective, their eyes, their minds. Their method of transcription, of translation. I don’t think I can affect it. No. I don’t know how to affect it. I am just here, in this void. Suspended. Buoyed. Bouncing. My world reintegrates. I am solid once again. No. My world seems solid once again. Yes. I feel angry winds. What have I done? I know not what I do. Please. Forgive me. Forgive my ignorance. My inabilities. I know not. I know. But I not. I cannot. I am afraid. I do not wish to return, but I do. Always but. Always continue. Always feel and be confused. Always not understand. Always shudder at myself. Always think too much. Think thoughtless thoughts. Repeat. Repeat and repeat. Stop it. I can’t. They won’t stop. Thoughts, they are incessant. They don’t give me time to transcribe. They’re too fast. Here one moment. Gone the next. A wisp. Ephemeral. I want them. I want them. Please slow down, please calm down. Everything may not be all right, but who cares. Should I care? Am I right to care? Who am I? Does it matter? Who am I supposed to be? Should it matter? Where do I go? Why can I not go? Let me go. Let myself go. I cannot. I am trapped. I have trapped myself. Where am I? What am I? What do I do?


For the Intermittent Writer


Short books about albums. Published by Bloomsbury.

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