You Aren't Open to Change
The humdrum of life is briefly dusted with beauty. It can be tumultuous. People can be hideous, slithering from beautiful beings to slimy creatures. I get scared often—petrified. I am easily captivated by beauty's fleeting breath. Honed by physical essence. Because if it's bad, it can get better. I am a pessimist who always has hope. And I have this hope because hope has always found me. I have always seen it—in beauty, beauty that wraps around the mundane.
The plant in my room is growing. My "step-dad" gave it to me. It had been sitting in his junk room for a few months. He'd put it away for the winter, he'd said. I was on the way back home after living on my own, in another state, for a few years. I was never able to get a plant bigger than an average candle, so when I saw the many plants he had, I asked for one! I'm not sure what the plant is. All I know is, it's growing. After 4 months, it's sprouted into something.
I am a deluded spirit. I want to say that this is some sort of sign--that I should stop what I'm doing and manifest. I want to hope that this blooming of sorts can materialize into something useful for my life. All I crave right now is an advancement in some area of my life. I wallow on here. I bitch and cry. I do not want to seem like such a bitter bee. Not when I know how happy I am on a daily basis. I just need a little more, because being happy isn't enough.
Being a happy person is not as joyous as it sounds. I am content where I am, and that is dangerous. Dangerous because no matter how content I am, I will grow, and the world will move. I cannot remain happy, stuck, rooted in the space, body, and mind of a twenty-year-old woman. I cannot let things falter—my friendships and grades—just because I'm satisfied. I'm content because I have no responsibilities. No dependencies. I do not need to make money. I do not have bills. So should I sit back and let my life halt? Should fate stagger simply because I'm accustomed and at ease here?
No. I could save the plant, give it hope of something new... could I save myself? It's hard when it doesn't feel like you need saving. It's easy lying here, brushing worries away, because I will never live in spite. My mother will never allow me to crumble to ruins. My happiness rides on that. This is a conscious yet unconscious selfish doing. Taking advantage of that maternal gratitude. The protection and safety glittered over me. I don't want to thrive on it, but I do. Should all shatter, my mom will pick me up.
That is such a damaging mindset.
