Love, Hart [Discontinued]

twenty three

ASPEN

-

December 11th.
Entry No. 79

There was this thing an old man once told me. I was riding my bike down Brook Lane and stopped to sit on the curb. Honestly, I wouldn't have even spoken to the guy but he was playing the flute and I gave the man the last of my money.

I asked him how he began playing the cool instrument and that lead to me getting a life lesson from a flute playing homeless man.

Best part-his name was Arnold.

He said something about being inconspicuously alive. And-At first-I had the faintest clue as to what that signified. Being dead? Being alive but feeling dead?

I never knew what it meant.

But now-holy crap-now, I'm almost certain of what Arnold meant. Or at least I hope I'm certain, because if not, what I'm about to write may sound very stupid.

Inconspicuously alive.

Live your life subjectively instead of basing it on how you've been perceived in the past. Mind, body, and soul, wholly yours. Be unobtrusive willingly, no need to yell or shout that you're living-that you're alive.

I live amongst 7.9 billion beings.

No shout nor scream would ever be loud enough for every soul to hear my voice, no. I'm not that special.

Don't construct your life off of their attention, their opinions, don't be loud because their blatant disregard forces you to, and don't be quiet because their berating words intimidate you to.

Out of the good graces of every freakin' person in the universe, go I.

Silently living in the peace of knowing my voice isn't neglected or loud enough, but just not heard enough. 15.8 billion eyes and ears.

Seen but not heard.

It's okay to not be conspicuous, my friend, Arnold said to me.

Because it's more than okay to be inconspicuously alive.

I never knew if I agreed with that statement. I wasn't really sure if I could ever master such an art. And yes, I say art because it is extremely hard not to scream when ignored or not heard.

But Arnold. He seemed so content with his defeat...

It made wonder if the term rock bottom wasn't so daunting and ominous. Because really, he had nothing and yet seemed to have the meaning of fucking life tucked in his pocket.

I don't know about you, but Arnold was definitely my spirit animal.

That's all she wrote,
A.L.H.