Poem: The Hustle.

We race…

to achievement

to success

to productivity

to efficiency

to immortality.

All the while we fail to realize

it’s our mortality

our inescapable, and often ugly, “humanness”

that makes life beautiful.

 

We dream of being the beautiful, the intangible–

in likeness to stars.

But if the stars could feel

they would look down upon us in envy

knowing that it is our doomed fate

that enables each fleeting moment to be lovely.

 

We do not have the perspective of those still enough to see with timeless eyes–

And in the midst of this journey,

we’ve picked up the pace

and we can’t keep up with ourselves.

While we race, we hold shining blinders to our vision

each year provided with a new set fancier than the last…

enabling us to look forward at the goal

while we lose sight of the process;

We wear them with pride–

told they were a gift to help us reach our destination with more efficiency

but now our heads are spinning and we can’t remember where we were going.

Most tragic of all, we can’t remember who we are.

 

But we continue to race in anxiety, failing to realize

that despite all of our life hack books,

we still must close our eyes and sleep at night

just like every other person who has never read the book.

Despite all of our age-erasing serums,

wrinkles will not forget our decaying faces.

Despite all of our celery juice,

disease may still find us.

Despite all of our years spent growing our wallets,

all of our holes in the ground will be the same size.

Despite all our power and fame,

it is but a thread that separates us from the vastness of eternity;

one small shift in our world to make us remember we are but fragile things…

 

The point is not

that we should not strive for greatness

the point is

we should not lose sight of why

we choose to pursue something better

for if we read

every self-help book and

listen to every podcast and

optimize every spare second our time,

we are but a fool if we think we can figure out how to live forever;

an even greater fool

if we think any of that would bring us happiness.

 

Be grateful for your life, darling

and figure out what you can do with it to serve something greater

then your bank account or your popularity

for it is not our money or our fame that surrounds us at death,

and die we will,

life’s greatest reward isn’t a commodity

and when you realize this, you start living.

 

 

 

 

a. b. martin

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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