I am in awe of the aimless wanderers.
They move through life without restriction, without rules, without boundaries.
They thrive off the unknown, the vast and undetermined future, which holds infinite opportunities and an abundance of adventure.
I, however, cling to determined paths, strict rules and rigid boundaries. I need to map and to plan. I find nothing more satisfying than checking off lists, of which I write many, knowing that I’m taking one step closer towards some fabricated destination.
Despite frantic attempts to stay on track however, due the inevitability of life, I guess, I have become desperately lost.
I fill my days with constant activity, so as to distract my thoughts from wandering. In the stillness of the night, however, I rack my brain for answers. After what seems like an eternity, I drift off into an unsettled, disconcerted sleep, only to awake to the stark reality of daylight, realising that my hours of searching have led to no prevail.
My destination is becoming increasingly unclear, and with a clouded vision, I can no longer comprehend which paths to follow, which rules to abide by or which boundaries to restrict myself to.
I have become aimless, but I do not embrace the anticipation and exhilaration of the unknown, or the abundance of opportunity held in the future.
Aimlessness frightens me; I am terrified of the unknown.
And so, I have become the aimless worrier.