Disclaimer: the fact that this has passed my own censorship, should indicate the level of tiredness, in so many more ways than physical fatigue, I am reaching. I don’t know why I want to share this with you, but somehow it seems only fair. Don’t worry mother, I know: this too shall pass.
Patience is not my virtue, I stop, I start, I despair. I turn back and around again. My ambitions can edge on megalomania only to hide the size of my fear. I am quick but too emotional, my words are sharp and they cleanly cut through the established pretence of appearance, shattering seemingly perfect worlds and leaving scars that will not heal. Is what I feel as my truth the same to universal truth, that what outrages me, the same to the world? Am I arrogant for speaking, for voicing, for wanting better, for wanting more.
I am tired of roaming, I am tired of my own pressure and my own fear. I am angry at myself for refusing to settle to just be content. Sometimes I am scared of my own dreams, of the road to take to realise them. Am I unrealistic – mad even – for aiming high. I have been told I would make a good PA. What is wrong with that? Am I setting myself up for a disappointing life? When I think of the risks to take, the uncertainties, it overwhelms me and suddenly there is comfort in familiarity that really is not utter unhappiness.
I am tired and it is definitely time for bed, so I take heart: Courage does not always roar. Sometimes courage is the quiet voice at the end of the day saying: “I will try again tomorrow.” – Mary Anne Radmacher