This has always been a haphazard area of life for me.
Sometimes it has been incredibly easy—to the point of being natural. At other times, paralysis or wandering in the fog.
Moving on is a rudimentary affair when you know the “on” to which you are moving. Take away that known “on,” and you’re left moving without going anywhere at all.
Is it just me, or have prudent “on’s” becoming increasingly scarce in this world? If that is indeed the case, then the whole point of moving on is specious.
I mean, what’s the point of moving on if the next “on” is no better or worse than the “on” from which you moved?
Moving on becomes superfluous, even futile. At best, it becomes mere escapism.
The older I get, the more I realize that this world contains no truly satisfying “ons.” Ours is a world filled with offs disguised as ons.
The big “on” is elsewhere and the movement toward that is what makes all the difference.
Sometimes it has been incredibly easy—to the point of being natural. At other times, paralysis or wandering in the fog.
Moving on is a rudimentary affair when you know the “on” to which you are moving. Take away that known “on,” and you’re left moving without going anywhere at all.
Is it just me, or have prudent “on’s” becoming increasingly scarce in this world? If that is indeed the case, then the whole point of moving on is specious.
I mean, what’s the point of moving on if the next “on” is no better or worse than the “on” from which you moved?
Moving on becomes superfluous, even futile. At best, it becomes mere escapism.
The older I get, the more I realize that this world contains no truly satisfying “ons.” Ours is a world filled with offs disguised as ons.
The big “on” is elsewhere and the movement toward that is what makes all the difference.
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