wilting flowers

What would you do if money did not matter? my best friend asks.

“I would travel and I would write.”
That’s perfect, she says.
“But it isn’t, because what I want to do for the rest of my doesn’t pay and I need to find something that does.”

My ultimate goal is to live, to love, to understand, to know less as I see more. I don’t have materialistic goals. I don’t dream of getting married, I don’t dream of having children and owning a house, I never really have. I don’t have a career goal – the idea of psychology just seems nice.

“Life has just become so dismally meaningless. There are moments of happiness and I think back to the hour before and think, Lucie you were silly for being sad but then the sadness always comes back. I don’t know what to do, everything comes and goes in drastic waves”
What things will make you sad? she asks
“Working at a job that doesn’t contribute to my happiness. I don’t think I like to get paid for what I do, for anything, really. I love kids until I get paid to watch them…for 8 hours a day. I don’t have people I feel close to. I’ve become less connected to myself, so as a result I’ve become disconnected to everything around me”

What would do if money did not matter? she asks.

I would drive down to Los Angeles come evening because I wanted to, because I grew tired of San Jose and I wanted to see the sunrise from Southern California. I would go see the aurora lights in Norway. I would see the enchanting autumn of Alaska, the cherry blossoms of Taiwan, the animal footsteps in Africa. I would visit my penpal best friend in Serbia, and we would drink wine and she’d introduce me to all her kind friends. I would have enough time and desire in the day to bake enough cookies and muffins, pack them into little containers or ziploc bags, print out inspiration quotes taped on the front, and hand them to homeless people. I would fly back home so I could hug my brother and ask him to please not grow up too fast, to always remember me when he’s an adult. I would find a vocal coach. I would take time to resolve these performance anxiety issues I have so that I could sing in front of people at the top of my lungs, so that I could play the piano in front of others. I would paint with my fingers and I would buy all the books that capture my interest. I would befriend strangers who would be willing to sit with me at the empty bench just right over there. I would wipe away all the tears that are shed. I would greet the shadows in dark alleys. I would run through the forest and laugh, and laugh, and keep laughing. I would sleep in the backseat of my car. I would take the time to muster up enough courage to tell my parents what I stand for so that I could finally feel loved, even though I know they love me, but a fact is different from an emotion. I would go to the ocean and splash through waves and learn how to swim, or at least be fearless enough to embrace it.

I would be a gypsy. I’d be the little Indigo Child that I am.

I wouldn’t feel like this.

And what have you become because money does matter? I ask myself.

I’ve grown sad. i’ve grown sad that I mimic the posture of willow trees and my heartbeat resonates with raindrops falling. That’s the thing about people who know exactly what they stand for – you then recognize everything that isn’t part of what you stand for and you see that these obstacles stunt your true path. Awareness and intelligence are both double-edged swords. Adding a stubborn attitude to the situation amplifies the loneliness. You become stuck in the present, You lose sight of the broader picture. They say you need to suffer through the thunderstorm to see the rainbow, but I imagine a world where I am happy, loving, inspired, and it’s not impossible, it’s damn not, because I was that girl.

“I don’t know where this childlike free Lucie went.”
I miss her too, she solemnly responds.

I cry. I cry.

It’s just one of those days. It’s just one of those weeks. It’s just one of those months. It’s just a phase, it’s just a phase, you’ll grow out of it.

You can look like you have everything on the outside, but that’s not what you want. Nothing matters on the outside if you don’t feel anything on the inside.

I tell my best friend I feel as if I unknowingly was dropped in a forest, and I look up searching for rays of sunshine, but I see none. The forest isn’t dark, you see, there is nothing to be frightened of. But it isn’t light.

“So lost” she says.

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