1 Suspended Metamorphosis

I’m staring at my screen blinded by its light hoping for a creative, an original moment to crystallize. I remind myself that I am young and in the same moment I realize how relative this word has become to me.

Often, when I watch a movie I get a glimpse of truth, of something that is meaningful beyond the superficial I spend 99% of my time with: spreadsheets, thoughts about promotion and a good career, women as objects of my desire, jealousy, the news, money and how I am perceived.

I am reminded to slow down, to look at the beautiful things around me, to look into a woman’s eyes out of sheer curiosity, to touch her skin for the same reason. I am reminded that everything I am looking for, everything I have ever found was found off the main drag.

My cocoon has been comfortable. But there is a sensation that I might finally be outgrowing the rolling blue of Facebook, the frenzy of instant gratification, the composure of a well crafted resume, that the glimpses of truth I have captured through the cracks in my cocoon’s wall are sufficient to lure me out in a painful and yet liberating process.
There is a promise that I — incredulously — whisper to myself sometimes: Beautiful things are about to happen. All you have to do is let them.

Today is the first time I am telling you about my story, it’s the first time I’m telling anyone. The next time I will write it will be different.