Lessons On... Naivete

Naiveté flows through me like pollen in the wind, catching desperately on to whatever sticks and makes a real difference.

I am (currently) twenty-two, and I feel as restless and inconsistently insatiable as ever. This is, as I’ve been forewarned, completely as expected.

This doesn’t ease the ache, however, of the moment. The second by second of each present day guts me with a melon scoop, addresses me by name, and eviscerates my certainty.

Some would call this existential dread, but I’d argue it’s a simpler dance than that. I’d argue that it’s the result of my escape. My skills have been practiced in the wrong directions, leading me to master my own self destruction. Unimpressive, yet significant, this prop-decay has begun to sprout legitimate mold.

The awareness I tout is a glass pane facade, of course, yet I still reach to attempt to get ahead of myself. I yearn for the wisdom I unconsciously avoid forming on my own through means of analysis. “Maybe, if I think about it hard enough, I can figure it out ahead of time!” Says a well-meaning fool.

Surrender, I’ve compromised to believe, is a savior at this junction. Perhaps, regardless of my cowardice, this pilgrimage is yet to find its conclusion. Perhaps the purpose proceeds the humble forming of function.