What is better? Living in, but cut off from, a world that appears to be perfect or being part of a world where everything is difficult? A world where you have a choice to use your voice or a place where you are forced to? A life full of dreams or a life full of struggle?
I think I would choose the world of difficulty over a solitude of separation, regardless of how perfect the latter world may be in appearance. I would choose the world where I have a choice, over the world where I am told what to say, think or do. And I think I would choose the life full of dreams over the life full of struggle. Living in the world of difficulty will be made all the easier with my life full of dreams. I’ll have the choice to follow my dreams if I so desired. It wouldn’t be very pleasant living in a difficult world full of struggles.
I’ve become something of a loner over the past few years. Not reclusive, but not fully connected to the world around me. Even in this current phase of my life, I would still choose to be part of the difficult world, rather than the peace and tranquility of my isolated paradise. But, I also have the option of visiting the paradise inside my mind if I so wished, which wouldn’t be an option if I was told what to think.
Everything is connected. The way we feel is connected to how we act; and the way we act is connected to how we feel. Both have a bearing on each other, but neither has a greater bearing over the other.
Even the connection with someone else’s ‘Fred’ (their inner maniac driver) gives me the choice whether to interact or ignore – being totally separated would not give me that choice. I could act alongside this Fred, copy his actions, mirror his mannerisms, or I could continue and do my own thing. I could become him, or I could be me.
For years I have felt that I wanted to be someone else. Someone good at sports, someone confident at parties (or one to one conversations!), someone with a fit and healthy body, someone who everyone feels comfortable to be around, and more recently someone inspiring and someone who always has good hair. All very serious things, the hair especially.
Whilst I was thinking of being all of these different people, I have overlooked one very important thing. Me. The unique individual who isn’t good at sports, can’t hold a decent conversation for toffee, has a body to match all the toffee that has been consumed over the years, frightens the majority of people, couldn’t inspire someone to sleep and has shocking hair (on occasions).
I looked at a photo of myself as a child one day. The photo was taken just after I’d had my cosmetic surgery on my ears, so I was around eight years old. I was smiling shyly into the camera on the photo, and I said “I’m sorry. What has happened to you?” What had happened to the dreams of that young boy from years ago?
I can remember some of my sleeptime dreams as vividly as if I had actually lived them, but can’t remember the dreams that I had for my future as that young boy. I’m sure that he didn’t dream of working in my current job. Or my previous ones for that matter. I’m also sure that he didn’t dream of feeling so alone at times when he actually wanted to be alone – or the same lonely feeling when in company. And I think it is safe to say that he didn’t dream of waiting for all the good things to begin.
No, I know he didn’t dream the last one. That was a more recent dream; until I woke up and realised that I have a choice. I will always be waiting for the good things to happen if I thought that way constantly. I can choose to ignore those thoughts, and be open and awake to the goodness that is all around me right now. There are still times when I want better, but on the whole I feel pretty good now. I think my inner eight year old would be happy with that.
I don’t think that my inner eight year old really cares if I can’t play football, don’t understand snooker and is bored to tears with darts. I don’t think he’s bothered that I am slightly chubbier on occasions. I can’t see him having a sleepless night over a couple of my hairs pointing in the wrong direction, or any of the other ‘concerning issues’ that affect my thoughts today.
He’d just say, “Be yourself” He’d smile shyly, and then say, “But what are you looking into your past for? You need to live in your present. Make the changes that you want for you, not for anyone else. Inspire people for being you, not pretending to be anyone else. Set a new trend with a hairstyle that will look just as awful on anyone else!” He’d then go all serious, and say, “You are unique. You are special. You are living your life your way. Your life, your world, your dreams, your events, your skills, your inspiration, in your time. You can try to live as a wannabe, but you’ll actually be a neverbe. You can live your life as yourself, and you’ll be…”
He’s done that deliberately, that inner eight year old has. What will I be?
The Mansionic Perspective 
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