sand in my hands

I have been waiting.

I am still waiting.

I have nothing more important to say than, I want this ambition to remain.

In my mind right now are hundreds are thoughts. Goals. Realistic ones. Lofty ones.

I know who I am.

Is that rare?

No, I don't think so.

I think we all know who we are.

I think most of us don't know how to be who we are.

Or, perhaps, don't like who we are.

I know who I am.

And I think I know what the next step is.

But motivation, ambition, dedication seem to be like dry sand in my hands.

I get a big handful.

And it starts to sift through my fingers. I lose it. Am left with little more than I started with...

I am tired of that.

I am tired of a lot of things.

But today, the sun is shining. And I drove with the windows down. My hair is tangled from the wind.

And I have hope that I am known. That what is inside might be able to make its way out.

You who walk beside me must help me...

it's the only way I'll make it.

Remind me. Do not let me fall stagnant. Working forty hours and running on a treadmill and waking up to an alarm clock. Don't let me accept all of this as "normal".

This life is extraordinary.

And I want to hold it in my hands long enough to see it.