>And it just got old

>For the past couple of months, I've been happily complaining about the fact that I need a vacation, partly because I wanted something to complain about, but mostly because it is the truth. I wasn't talking about going to a Florida beach and laying in the sun all day, no I was talking about a break from the repetitive mess I had dug myself into. I found myself complacent in just about every aspect of my life. I couldn't get excited about anything, because there was no point - the exact same thing would happen the next day. And the next day. And the next. I realized I was at a point where there was a suffocating lack of inspiration running through my life, I was faking smiles and becoming secretly envious of anybody who seemed like they were enjoying the things life was throwing at them.

I was wrong.

I just didn't realize that I have all of this... stuff that makes me in the top .3% of the entire world, and I was the one complaining. And what enrages me even more is that there are people who have it all, literally, and they complain even more. I think that the trick isn't being at the top of the world, it's believing that you can be. If you get dropped off at the summit by helicopter like so many people have done, you haven't really accomplished much. All you see is a huge mountain that makes you above everybody else. But then there are those that climb it, but only reach halfway. They have so much more to be proud of than the other person, and they feel that way. They are fulfilled, and they do have peace about where they are.

I'm not just talking about money or success here. It can be taken that way, sure, but that's not necessarily the point I'm driving at. What I'm trying to say, I think, is that it's not the destination that counts, sometimes it's the journey, despite where it takes you. You start climbing one mountain and you wind up somewhere completely different. You may even find yourself being blown off the course. Well maybe that's not you going off course, maybe it's the wind keeping you on it.

I dunno. I just rambled a lot and it probably makes zero sense, but that's fitting, because there are zero readers. At least I feel better about it all haha

Hamilton Barber

The subject of this page is an introverted writer/musician/lunatic from Chattanooga, TN who dabbles in lexical dexterity, unorthodox thoughts on prosperity, and being overwhelmingly undeserving of the privilege of waking up every day. He hopes that everybody who reads these words takes them to heart and leaps higher than he ever could. He reads, thinks, and speaks too much; he listens, works, and loves too little; and he says “I” entirely too often. The words on these pages are not his: they are the words that were given to him.