|O ME! O life!... of the questions of these recurring;|
|Of the endless trains of the faithless—of cities fill’d with the foolish;|
|Of myself forever reproaching myself, |
(for who more foolish than I, and who more faithless?)
|Of eyes that vainly crave the light—of the objects mean—|
of the struggle ever renew’d;
|Of the poor results of all—of the plodding and sordid crowds I see around me;|
|Of the empty and useless years of the rest—with the rest me intertwined;|
|The question, O me! so sad, recurring—What good amid these, |
O me, O life?
That you are here—that life exists, and identity;
|That the powerful play goes on, and you will contribute a verse.|
I'm in a weird place in my life.
I guess 25 is hitting hard. Adulthood, etc.
A friend recently told me that he remembers 25 being an age where he really took charge and ownership of his life. Like he really realized "this is my life" and made a conscious effort to live it the way he wanted to. Hm.
I'm thinking (read: crying) a lot about that.
I don't know. My head's spinning but I find some strange comfort in Whitman's words.
I'm hangin in.
Please forgive me for a lack of creative and inspired posts as I try to figure out what the heck it means to live my life.