High on life, again.

Shit son, there are no limits. I’ve once again proved that breaking them is not something that is either painful or even particularly hard. It’s another form of breathing and it will improve your sense of well-being by a hundred percent. Everything is as it were before, except for my perspective and that means nothing is as it was.

Now I’m fucking overwhelmed by my own assets though, by my own materialistic possessions. I have the ability and I have the resources to do everything. After two weeks with my life in my backpack, this becomes a marvellous addition and expands my freedom in a way I didn’t think going back to my sedentary life would. It’s not the same thing as sleeping on platforms or picking cities at random that you want to see and experience. But looking around at all these things that I own I don’t feel bogged down by them, rather they feel like a whole new world of experiencing another kind of freedom and some of them even feel like awesome tools to obtain even more of this freedom.

Maybe that’s partly due to my own definition of freedom, which is movement. It’s options. That’s freedom to me. Options and a world where you allow your own impulses to be something position. Where the breaking of norms or even the fulfilling of them doesn’t hold any particularly positive or negative value. It’s just a moment. Freedom is a moment in which the moment is ruler. A glorified “Carpe Diem” perhaps, but still.

The privileges though. Holy Sharknado on a stick. I’ve got so many fucking privileges that it’s almost insane. I’ve been travelling up and down, left and right, across many many borders and my skin, my appearance results in a casual glance at my passport that lasts for a whole of five seconds before I’m dismissed and forgotten.

What a difference fourteen little days can make. Before my little Eurotrip I was struggling and had been for a while, but now I got it back. I get to be high on life and possibilities again. Mostly because I’ve spent fourteen days not constantly trying to repress who I am, but simply rolled with it. In daily life, the mundane kind where you have to hold down a job, buy milk and pay your bills on time I fight my impulses all the time. Each day is yet another day of fighting like a fucking bashee to not let the impulses that run through my control my actions. That takes a lot of energy out of you. On the road like this however the impulses are on top, they rule it all. I don’t have to fight, I don’t have to even argue against them I just let go and ride the wave. For me that’s like the alcove for the Borg or sleep for other people, this regenatates me, revitalises me. I find new energy and to spend fourteen days not fighting yourself also gives you a whole batch of new confidence. It also becomes tangible again that there are no limits, there are only possibilities and what impulses are is actually an abstract possibility. You don’t always have to fight them, because sometimes it’s worth to grab hold and twirl them around your fingers, clutching them to your chest as if they were priceless pearls and maybe even engage them. There’s life in impulses too.

Rose tint, blue skies, but no tears.

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~ by Ape on August 9, 2013.

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