You ever have one of those moments where you ask yourself, what am I doing? How did I get here? And then you look back at your life and wonder what in the world is going on. As if you were asleep and woke up days, weeks, months or even years later unsure of exactly how this space has built up around you. The box you are now in feels so small even though when it was being built every layer made sense to you at the time.
At the time of its building, my life was mine to choose and do with what I wanted. It was mine to explore with and exchange for those brief moments and fleeting feelings. And now here I am at almost thirty years old, and I realize how much of my life I have given away. I just handed pieces of it to someone or something else to have, for whatever they wanted to do with it. I allowed myself to live other people’s brief moments rather than taking a few for myself. In my childlike naivete, I assumed they would give some of those pieces back to me and maybe even a piece of theirs. Trouble is that is just naïve. No other word for it. I gave and was taken from. I allowed myself to be stolen.