In my dream i was my mother, and i was taking little me to a piano class. Little me was about four or five- way too young to play the piano- but i was taking her to a class anyway. She kept falling behind, and every once in a while i had to stop for her to catch up, yet she was reluctant, she kept telling me she didn't want to go, and i had to take her in my arms and carry her to what i remember to be my old music school... because i thought it was necessary, because i thought that one day when she'd grown she'd be thankful that i had given her a chance at something, anything...
i keep thinking about everything that my parents did for me. all the time, and effort and patient dedication to make sure that they did their best to try and bring me up, even if i chose not to become a pianist, or a dancer, or a writer... i wonder if i would be where i am today, had it not been for that piano class. or the trips to the park. or the endless books i had when i was growing up. i wonder if it would be different if i didn't know that my parents did the best they could... and taught me what it is like, giving the best you can at whatever you choose.
... the sad thing is that somehow, and somewhere along the way, i stopped trying my best.
i started falling behind. stopped trying. Gave up without even starting. perhaps it was just an easy way out, deciding that i was too weak, that somehow doing my best was no longer enough. being smart and driven just wasn't enough. and however wonderful i was, or tried to be, it was not enough.
Will it ever be enough? good enough. meaningful enough, worth a try... or whether i have to work just as hard in finding a point before making an attempt to reach out for something, anything...
my broken faith has me tied to a spot. and i, like the child in the dream, am reluctant to move forward... or maybe i still, even as an adult, need that someone or something, to pick me up and help me move on. until i can make the impossible effort and give it my best like i used to... because ... ? in the end all that matters is knowing that i did all i could?
i keep thinking about everything that my parents did for me. all the time, and effort and patient dedication to make sure that they did their best to try and bring me up, even if i chose not to become a pianist, or a dancer, or a writer... i wonder if i would be where i am today, had it not been for that piano class. or the trips to the park. or the endless books i had when i was growing up. i wonder if it would be different if i didn't know that my parents did the best they could... and taught me what it is like, giving the best you can at whatever you choose.
... the sad thing is that somehow, and somewhere along the way, i stopped trying my best.
i started falling behind. stopped trying. Gave up without even starting. perhaps it was just an easy way out, deciding that i was too weak, that somehow doing my best was no longer enough. being smart and driven just wasn't enough. and however wonderful i was, or tried to be, it was not enough.
Will it ever be enough? good enough. meaningful enough, worth a try... or whether i have to work just as hard in finding a point before making an attempt to reach out for something, anything...
my broken faith has me tied to a spot. and i, like the child in the dream, am reluctant to move forward... or maybe i still, even as an adult, need that someone or something, to pick me up and help me move on. until i can make the impossible effort and give it my best like i used to... because ... ? in the end all that matters is knowing that i did all i could?
posted by Nika at 8:32 PM
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