DREAMS AND MELANCHOLY

I get it. Finally, I understand. Je comprende.

The upscale, modern, sleek term is epiphany. But I find that just too fancy for me. I’m not a fancy person. I’m plain, I’m not high falutin’, I’m not zen. I’m average, common even.

Dawn breaks over marble head, that’s what people used to say. Do they still? Duh, how stupid can I be? I’ve got a head filled with hard rock, stiff and unabsorbing. Inflexible. Solid. Dense. Dull. Dull as a doorknob, the old saying went. Do people still use that phrase?

That’s it, that’s the news. What I finally understand. What has taken me all these years to comprehend. The truth. That is, there is nothing in particular that is special about me. Nothing unique. I’m a common sort. Slightly above average intelligence, below average in stature, average in every other aspect.

For all my wondering if there is greatness in me, years of searching and questioning, angst and despair, the simple answer is no. Not feeling sorry for myself, just stating the reality. If there were anything incomparable about me, that specialness would have shown itself by now. Logic dictates. I could zen it up, but one can’t escape one’s realities, however tempting it may be to try. Best not to continue to fool oneself. Got to face the truth.

What is real? What is my reality? I’ve lived a life that has no distinct meaning. Nothing exceptional, nothing extraordinary, nothing worth getting excited over. With apologies to my family, since obviously they are important and meaningful. But take out procreation and raising of children, which is in essence an animal act of instinct, what is left? There is no reason to gravitate to me, no reason to find me in a crowd, no motivation to choose my company. No reason to love me more than any other. I am simply here, one in a crowd of billions.

I won’t fight it anymore. I surrender. I finally understand. Je comprende.