You can be anything but not everything. I have told myself this many times that juggling should be left to the clowns that I should focus all my energy on one creative pursuit. That I should settle down, as if I am just a cloud floating in an infinite sky and I should pick a piece, carve it like playdough, slot it inside my heart, and call it success. You can be anything, but not everything.

I have told myself this many times that I must run achieve a goal post in the destination race before the clock’s wings grow tired and it falls, withers, rusts, drowns in a sea of age, age and plummets to the bottom like forgotten treasure. You can be anything, but not everything.

I have told myself this so many times that I almost believed it like a young child entranced by the tooth fairy of those who society likes to set. I am the mouse. The expectation is the cheese, and I am always hungry. I linger in the corner, waiting for an opportunity to show my worth but at what cost? I feel like a trained monkey on a unicycle, wanting applause and validation, a gold star for reaching milestones and I don’t know how to stop it, any of it. I don’t know how to simply be. I seek stillness, but it isn’t in my nature in the battle of the tortoise and the hare. I am the hare speeding ahead towards the dangling carrot, trying to discover what is beneath them. I think I know who I am then I quiver, uncertain, and also back to the starting square on my board game. Time to reinvent myself, again.

You can be anything, but not everything. I envy those who can be untroubled, take each day, and be satisfied with what they have, who they are. There is a ravenous ache in my soul that I must fill with paints and glitter, poetry and beauty, music and love. But sometimes in this modern society, the need for those things is blinded by the money. The demand to be stable like a house of bricks, but what if I want to build my house from straw, yes, it may be destroyed when it rains. But what if I don’t want to be rooted in one plot, one space, one place for too long? You can’t chain down a butterfly, but yet, isn’t that the truth? Aren’t we all clipped of our wings when we enter adulthood? We are told as children that we can do anything, become whoever we want to be. But then — the tables are turned and we are told that we can do something, but not everything. We are limited, squashed into boxes, weighted with labels on strings. So we no longer have the power or strength to fly, but one day I will cut those strings. I will tire from the burden of burning questions and I simply won’t answer them anymore. It’s coming. An evolution. I can feel it swirling in my stomach like a typhoon and I know that all this struggle all this pain will lead to something. I will fly and when I do — I will show the world that I can do anything and everything.

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