Friday, August 4, 2017
We all have strong ideals when we're young. Things we cling to, believe and feel for like it's our own personal religion. That's what really starts to break us; it's that feeling of growing up, getting old and little by little giving up pieces of our ideals bits at a time, not because we wanted to but because it's what we had to do to survive. A man who cries "what's the point of life if you're living just to work" must eventually sit down behind a desk to keep himself alive, a musician who plays for himself must eventually play the hits if he wants to eat, and a writer who works for the love of the craft must eventually write to earn a living. No matter how much it kills us, no matter if you're an artist or a traveler, a lover or a fighter, we are all eventually forced to give up a piece of what made us us to get by. The thing is, it might not be so bad if the knowledge of our loss didn't follow us, poking and prodding as a constant reminder of what we used to be, and the ideal sacrifices we're all forced to make for survivals sake.