Feeling Abstract

I can't seem to sleep and it has put me into an abstract sort of mood. I'm looking at life through a bit of a different perspective, different eyes that show a different view. It is strange to say the least, but it helps me settle into bed. So please don't mind the lack of fluidity in the next few paragraphs! They are not meant to be taken one after the other, but more as a sporadic explosion of thoughts.


I think the hardest thing I will ever have to overcome in my life is the idea that I am not special. To say it differently, I am not made to drastically change the world or be well known. Instead, I'm like a single drop of paint on a full canvas of colors. It is hard to call myself so small, yet know I make up a piece of the bigger picture. I can't say I am thrilled about this, I can't say that even now I accept it, and to be honest I do not think I want to accept it.

I also wonder if maybe life was not meant to be so vibrant and colorful. Maybe that is the way that our eyes are meant to see. We see the world in a dull, less saturated view of colors on purpose. Of course, to say that means that the purpose must be to make those moments when all the colors come out perfectly, where everything is saturated with unbelievable moments, all the more memorable. And that just gets my brain tumbling on. Like if every moment is not the perfect golden sunset on a smokey background or if all the blues in the ocean water are not at their brightest, then what can I do to live life to the fullest. Do I take my duller life and make it into something more exquisite or just wait for the moments to come and make them that much more memorable? It seems like a weird conundrum that all started with the desensitization of my own eyes.

Here's more of an example into my next thought. When I think of all the clouds I have seen, why is it they matter less in my memory. I can remember looking up and saying something along the lines of, "Wow, that's an amazing burst in the sky!" I can take a picture, but it just never seems to capture the same moment. How is it that my memory of what was and what currently is are never equal. It is like the moment it happens is the golden moment, and all things afterwards are just the reproductions of the golden moment. It is never quite as good. So then why can a picture stir so much? I guess I would have to answer that by saying there are billions of memories I want to keep in my head, but no way to recollect everything at once. It's like storing old pictures in a room, if the thought seems less-useful at the time then we're more willing to toss it in the back and let it get buried. And then one day we go digging through there, come across that old photograph and it suddenly seems more powerful.

I sometimes wonder if I could live without a body part. It's strange to think about, because in all honesty I know I could survive, but I'm not sure I could fantasize about living without it. Like if I lost my eyes, would life be the same for me. Would I want to be alive when I cannot see the beautiful sunsets or the way a storm looks before it hits. If I lost my leg, would that make me regret every day I never went running or the feel of my own independence. And in the end, does it make a life worth living when I am not living it with something most other people have. Again, it is a strange question, because I know I can survive without those but I'm questioning if the quality of my life would be worth it.

Well, that's all the random thoughts currently on my mind...