Personal Pace

The notion of personal pace. The postulate that, in spite of our openness to each other, we each move to our own rhythm.

You see couples breaking up after 6 or 7 years together. You see people who were too shy to approach a girl in a bar or sit next to her suddenly going out on dates. And you ask yourself: whatever is happening to this world?

The world moves and we move along with it. Some are in charge and are comfortable in leading their own movement. Others are simply dragged along the way. They are like small fish being taken away by the powerful current.

But if you look closer into the micro-structure of society you find that some are standing still. They fight against movement and banish it from their lives. It takes away their greatest strength: observation. They have a strong need to examine everything around them and create a life-force based off it.

Yes, here I am referring to the writer – but also to the drunks, the painters, the musicians, the bug collectors and the hippies. There are others I am sure to be forgetting because the booze is hitting me hard at the moment and I keep chugging it down mercilessly as I go along with this. Nevertheless, they know who they are. They don’t go with the flow. They don’t answer to critical social demands.

Call them outcasts, call them rebels, call them different. Hell, call them even strange or mad. This is a topic that has been ongoing for a while now, not just in this country but everywhere.

The need to succumb. You see it in everyday lives, you see it in our youth. 15 and 16 year-olds out there having sex without even being able to name their little private parts. Cats mating before mating season. Everybody is in a hurry to get it done, to get everything done.

But why are they in such a hurry? Why can’t they consecrate a day entirely for smelling tree-barks for instance?

It’s like they’re all carrying a huge list and ticking items off it. One at a time. That’s what living’s come to.

And here I use the term living loosely. Most of them don’t. They buy books and listen to classical music and take a tour in a museum just for the sake of it. They think it helps them maintain a connection to the finer things. Well darlings, that connection’s long been lost and probably dead by now.

Let me drink a few more.

Anyhow, even the writers are not immune to this. Sometimes their thoughts can catch part of the disease and it forms a black spot in their heads and hearts. Think of it as a drop of ink that turns into a splash when it hits the surface. It propagates. And the writer’s greatest danger is that his thoughts propagate in his work.

They splatter all over and spill a little on the edges. This is why it is so dangerous. The writer has the ability to botch his own life and also that of others. Anyone who reads his work (and might even strongly disagree with it) ends up catching the disease. We are everywhere and there is no place to hide from us. The disease of humanity has overtaken us all.

I see that look forming in your eyes as you read this. You are too serious, you’re thinking about saying. You think too much. You should go out more, let loose and just enjoy life.

Yes, enjoy life. But is going out with a woman I have no interest in learning her name just to feel her breasts at the end of the night really going to be fun? What will it benefit me other than subdue those persistent desires I keep having for women?

There is no room for growing anymore. We are struck by gluttony, and we are always hungry. We take and take and take and satisfy our immediate needs.

That’s why you don’t see any effort anymore. Efforts of kindness and efforts of love. We take the easy things and the easy way out. We’d even like to stop thinking and have someone do it for us. Yes, it’s true, and that’s why once upon a time writers were so valued and cherished and at the head of the social scale. But now we don’t even want any thinking done anymore. We just want pleasure and what we dub happiness.

What is that exactly? Tell me when you find it. I’ve looked it up, I’ve tried even reading about it. It’s not there. Like I said, you see some strange shit like people who were promised forever suddenly seeing it all come down and end.

Happiness is linked to continuity and eternity, and these things are simply not of our world. Things end. Things break. Things burn. Nothing is immune to this.

And now that I’m out of booze I should wrap this up. Here’s something to think about: visualize that one person you never thought it possible to live without but lost. Think about them and think of the possibility of getting them back. If you find it’s there then maybe happiness is not entirely out of our reach and we have a shot at it after all.


Be sure to check out my debut novel, A Road Away From Home, available on Amazon Kindle for 2.99$ and now in hard copy.

A Road Away From Home – Hanna Abi Akl


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