Notes from the Wastelands: The Necessity of Triviality

Life is f#$&ing complicated.

There. I said it. Publicly.
Deal with it.

The older I get, the more I understand why there are crotchety old men and bitchy old women on this planet who lash out at everything in their path. We go through the motions of obtaining an education, flaunting our degrees and talents to the corporate pimps… er, I mean employers… and sell our souls to the highest bidder so we can decorate ourselves with insurances, the proverbial picket fence (rusty iron door does it for me, not the wooden planks), spouse, children, social network, car(s), exotic vacations, and maybe even hefty bank account to cater to all your whims and guilty pleasures.

For what purpose?

What is the point of getting stressed out over every freaking detail, bill and bottom line? How should we truly define happiness?

I have no answer for you, nor would I dare to offer one in return. This is a solitary pursuit that we all have to face and come to terms with. Happiness is not something created by someone else on an assembly line that you can order with one click. It is a choice. An attitude.

We live.
We love.
We win.
We lose.
We use.
We get abused.
We rejoice.
We grieve.
We rise again.
We fight back.
We laugh.
We cry.
We dream.
We believe.
We lose.
We win.
We love.
We live.

Amidst all the complications that we endeavour to overcome and solve just to make it through another day without completely falling apart. I have learned the priceless value of triviality and frivolity in my life. It is important to excel, yes, and be the best you can be in this lifetime in order to leave a legacy behind. Our life mission is to find our authentic selves, articulate a life philosophy, but it’s equally important to be able to embrace the small bursts of insanity and uncomplicated moments that make you laugh out loud and feel, truly feel that you are more than just an amalgamation of bone and tissue.

So whether it is text messages with a good friend, indulging in unhealthy greasy junk food, crying over a sappy romantic movie, or getting all hot and bothered through pages of a well written albeit predictable book, let it in.

Rose quartz dreams ©FrogDiva Photography

Here’s a photograph to think about. My daughter gave me the jar to do as I please. Initially I contemplated filling it up with chocolates or maybe even salty savouries to keep on my desk at my beck and call. But then I thought this is my magic jar that can become anything I want. Today it is a full cup with a rose quartz submerged in it, a talisman for dreams and sleep. Why? Because I am allowing myself the triviality of playing with water and stones like I did as a child, and because I choose to indulge in a dream that has haunted me. It’s not about being submerged in the water, or even being locked in. It is about being the rock and owning the space you were placed in.

Life is f#$&ing complicated.
Be the rock.
Hurl yourself into life, and own the freaking water.

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