Original em http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZiFdHPzxluU por Bryarly Bishop
I often feel what my dad used to call the "the restlessness."
This feeling grabs you, spins you, and straps you in for a ride.
Have you ever been really, really late to something important and gotten stuck in traffic?
That angry despair, that fearful, paused potential, that helplessness -
That's the restlessness.
It's sparklers under my skin, motors thrumming through my knees
But quicksand sucking at the soles of my feet.
This compulsion to move forward isn't frightening, it's frustrating,
Because my humanity is maddening.
I am limited by the bonds of my mortality.
I'm a fighter pilot strapped to a kite
A wet match dreaming of dynamite.
Everything I could ever accomplish, everything I never have
Is beating against the iron will I inherited from a long line of thickheaded Southerners
From pioneers with a penchant for straying
From ancestors, long dead, who live a breath every time someone says their name -
But means me instead.
The world is my oyster, and I'm not afraid to shuck it.
So, fuck it.
When anxiety is sifting you through a sieve, separating the joie from your vivre,
Remember that you are rocking your existence.
No one in the history of the universe has had the courage to live your life
You're the very first - the Neil Armstrong of your birth.
And I'm not gonna tell you that if I can do it, you can do it, too.
I'm bearing the burden of being me
You're carrying the cross of being you.
Death stopped scaring me when I asked him to hang out and he said no.
What gives me nightmares is the fear that I'm moving too slow to keep up with life
Which I suspect moves just like light.
No matter how fast I go, I'll never catch up.
But I am willing to spend the rest of my statistically likely 57 years chasing after it,
Throwing myself, straining, jumping, leaping forward
Going after it like a dog at a speeding car.
Life is one hell of a pot - and I'm going all in.
So don't you dare fold, or I'll have no one out here to play with.
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