Island of Misfit Toys
I know it's past Christmas, and dreams of winter wonderlands and holiday medleys are a whisper of the past, but I often think of the misfit toys from the Rudolph story, knowing yet another season has come and past and they are left with many months before they can begin to hope again for rescue.
This is not the island I am going to discuss tonight, this is not the misfit I want to address.
It's a strange feeling, being on your own hypothetical island, realizing that even the misfit toys had unity in knowing they were all misfits together. It's a strange moment when you self reflect and realize there's no place like that for you. The sweet one in a kettle of tea, the rebellious one in a group of ascetics. It's like balancing on a four way fence...you could jump in different directions, land in different areas, but none of them would fully be you. As much as you wish there was a place, a category you could find comfort in, none is to be found.
Whether in conversations, entertainments, intellects, enjoyments, even upbringing, in no way do you fit, and a part of you is indifferent to that reality. Everything just seems so frivolous. Sometimes you desire the ability to turn off your brain and enjoy the nights, but so often your mind instead carries you to thoughts of impoverished children, broken families, starving love. Why is it that when surface life is going well, your brain is so enwrapped by all the things you wish you could do? Why is it that when you just want to relax and cease the disquiet, all you can think about is this broken, hurting world and all the things you should be doing to fix it but are not?
Sometimes I wish I was more articulate in vocalizing my thoughts than I am, but alas I tend to mull things over for awhile until I explode onto paper formulations of my thoughts. Reclusivity to a fault, my demise.
We're bombarded by so many messages. So many mixed signals, so many perspectives, so many thoughts of varying opinions. And so we are led to the island of misfit toys. The island where your thoughts, your opinions, your emotions, are swirled around in a tornado, unable to find direction or clarity or meaning. Like swimming underwater, your eyesight blurred, and all you do is crave clarity. You just want an honest answer, a simple truth. You simply want the freedom to see.
People feed you with words of kindness that you know are good intentioned and maybe even honest but you won't let yourself accept it because your illogical mind is so wrapped up in the bullshit that your worth is defined numerically; logically you know the flawed reasoning behind this, but you continue to have this gnawing perception-- maybe for no other reason than it's tangible, something you can blame and physically work towards (even if in cyclic effort) with the notion that life has possibility of perfection if you were to achieve that ideal numerical gravitational pull.
Sometimes I just get so tired. So very tired of all the superfluousness. All of the self guided, maybe misguided, rules. All of the standards. All of the fighting, trying, failing, questioning, wondering. All of the eggshells.
People say to always be yourself, but sometimes you just don't know who that is. And that is the most frustrating thing in the world. Welcome to the island of misfit toys, population: 1.
This is not the island I am going to discuss tonight, this is not the misfit I want to address.
It's a strange feeling, being on your own hypothetical island, realizing that even the misfit toys had unity in knowing they were all misfits together. It's a strange moment when you self reflect and realize there's no place like that for you. The sweet one in a kettle of tea, the rebellious one in a group of ascetics. It's like balancing on a four way fence...you could jump in different directions, land in different areas, but none of them would fully be you. As much as you wish there was a place, a category you could find comfort in, none is to be found.
Whether in conversations, entertainments, intellects, enjoyments, even upbringing, in no way do you fit, and a part of you is indifferent to that reality. Everything just seems so frivolous. Sometimes you desire the ability to turn off your brain and enjoy the nights, but so often your mind instead carries you to thoughts of impoverished children, broken families, starving love. Why is it that when surface life is going well, your brain is so enwrapped by all the things you wish you could do? Why is it that when you just want to relax and cease the disquiet, all you can think about is this broken, hurting world and all the things you should be doing to fix it but are not?
Sometimes I wish I was more articulate in vocalizing my thoughts than I am, but alas I tend to mull things over for awhile until I explode onto paper formulations of my thoughts. Reclusivity to a fault, my demise.
We're bombarded by so many messages. So many mixed signals, so many perspectives, so many thoughts of varying opinions. And so we are led to the island of misfit toys. The island where your thoughts, your opinions, your emotions, are swirled around in a tornado, unable to find direction or clarity or meaning. Like swimming underwater, your eyesight blurred, and all you do is crave clarity. You just want an honest answer, a simple truth. You simply want the freedom to see.
People feed you with words of kindness that you know are good intentioned and maybe even honest but you won't let yourself accept it because your illogical mind is so wrapped up in the bullshit that your worth is defined numerically; logically you know the flawed reasoning behind this, but you continue to have this gnawing perception-- maybe for no other reason than it's tangible, something you can blame and physically work towards (even if in cyclic effort) with the notion that life has possibility of perfection if you were to achieve that ideal numerical gravitational pull.
Sometimes I just get so tired. So very tired of all the superfluousness. All of the self guided, maybe misguided, rules. All of the standards. All of the fighting, trying, failing, questioning, wondering. All of the eggshells.
People say to always be yourself, but sometimes you just don't know who that is. And that is the most frustrating thing in the world. Welcome to the island of misfit toys, population: 1.
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