Musings

You are alone, you have completed all your chores quite well, you don´t feel like going out and
besides, it is raining.
Your life seems pretty average, it could be anyone´s story.
Story? Did you say story? Well, you didn´t actually say it, you just thought of the word...
So, of your life could be anyone´s story maybe you could write it, maybe it could resonate with
someone, maybe someone feels like reading something they could relate to, something quite
different from the glamorous posts on social media...
So, you start writing, the afternoon passes, and you don´t even notice. Maybe someone reads
your story and likes it, maybe not. Still, you have reached out somehow and that´s what matters.
So you run to catch the subway or the train, perhaps the bus and then you get to work. You face
the same people day in and day out and you just go on working till it´s time to leave.
On the way home you ask yourself if it is worth it. Everything seems so commonplace and your
dreams have somehow shifted from adventures in faraway places to a vague numbness content
with an absence of problems.
And then you see a tiny toddler looking at everything with a sense of wonder you have not
experienced in ages, a simple happiness unaware of its own existence as such.
You were once a tiny toddler too and you used to look at things that way. Perhaps it is time to
look for that child you were once, s/he lives in the gardens of memory and may need a
comforting hug.