Survive before you can feel alive

English: Bronze statue of Rocky Balboa at the Philadelphia Museum of Art, created by A. Thomas Schomberg, as commissioned by Sylvester Stallone. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Had a great conversation with a friend the other night about our hierarchy of needs. We may be fighting for our lives right now. Fighting to put on a smile each day and make it all work. Fighting not to kick someone's ass (in my case it's my own ass that could use some kicking). Fighting with so much effort to stay alive that romantic emotions simply aren't there. We can't force them to be there. When I look at all the women who cross my path each day, aside from those I'm truly honored to already have there, I rarely feel that tug. You know, that tug that makes me want to know her. What's her favorite color? Where does she want to go? Who does she want to be? When she needs it to be quiet, where does she find the place to do it? But every so often, the tug reminds me with a kick in the gut that I want to stop trying to live and get back to being alive, "OMG, I can feel that she's got a story worth listening to."

With hard work (and writing), I expect and look forward to the day when self-security leads back to passionate advance, because I'd much rather spend my time thinking about new ways to love than new ways to survive.

Destiny: No House Calls

Image by Nahuel |Bossanostra| via Flickr

In my 12th book of the year, Shadow of the Wind, by Carlos Ruiz Zafon, I came across this quote that rang, for me, quite true. The character Fermin Romero de Torres says,

"Destiny is usually just around the corner. Like a thief, a hooker, or a lottery vendor: its three most common personifications. But what destiny does not do is home visits. You have to go for it."

Destiny, or this inevitable course of events, though often spun with positive yarn, simply just is--whatever will be, will be--however, I also believe that if you never turn that corner, you create your own destiny... of nothing. For some, that's fine. For me, never. Walking around the corner is what I do, sometimes for a feast and sometimes there's not a bread crumb left to barter with... but at least I find out. I took the time--and the chance--to know.

And, to me, knowing isn't half the battle; it's the whole thing. The action that accompanies the knowing comprises the full gamut of what it means to live.