"Life is a moment in space, when the dream is gone it's a lonelier place," sang Barbra Streisand in her hit song Woman in Love. I woke up yesterday morning with this song randomly playing in my head, and I thought to myself, "Shit, that's true."
While I was doing my morning walk to the nearby bus stop, I tried to convince myself that perhaps it was not completely true. Even now, a part of me is on fire to defend the general humanity: there is no way someone can live a dreamless life, isn't there? Somebody has gotta want something sooner or later—even a flicker of desire can reignite a sense of longing, can't it?
But perhaps it's not completely true either. When someone nonchalantly says that they want a bag, they may not be implying the idealism of longing for a meaningful existential moment. It could be something straightforward instead, conjured up by a mere confusion of what to buy ("What do you want to do in life right now? Like, what is your goal? Is there something you desperately want to get your hands on?" "I don't know... a bag, maybe?"). When someone says that they are going out for a nice solo dinner, they may not be thinking about crossing off Buzzfeed's list of living life to the fullest. It could be a warranted treat after a rather unhinged day instead, a reminder that "at least you can still eat something good".
It's a quite sensitive topic, and I don't want to rub this the wrong way, so it's best to admit that I'm not sure either. As I have said a few times before, there are a lot of things in life I can't seem to understand better the more I saunter. But that doesn't stop me from over-hypothesizing. I would still like to chip in: there are probably different kinds of desire, and to truly live, you have to possess the right drive.
If you asked me, I would straight up say that I couldn't make head nor tail of this. Life has been making me feel like walking in a room full of expensive paintings lately, and with art, there is no real telling. For untrained eyes like mine, the beauty in an expensive artwork can be pretty much unrecognizable. I walk. I feign an awe when an important-looking stranger passes by. I walk. I stop. I try to see one from a different angle. I shake my head. I continue to walk.
It's certainly not a painful experience. It just feels... empty somehow, like walking just for the sake of walking, breathing just for the sake of breathing. I have started to question myself, "Is it possible that I was equipped with a guide from the ticketing booth but accidentally lost it somewhere?" It's both rhetorical and spurious. Illogical but not hilarious.
Perhaps, all I need is the desire to color my own canvas, no matter how bad I seem to be at drawing. It's the experience that counts, right? Perhaps, all I need is the drive to enjoy the strokes in the line full of paintings without the need to overanalyze everything. Or perhaps, all I need is to be grateful for the free ticket to the museum.
I may feel like the grip of the fuel that ignites such a rare flame is starting to loosen, but instead of posing as a bystander, I think I know where to take action. It's a free ticket to the museum after all. I just need to let that sink in a little bit more and give thanks.
