Waiting to Drown
We are drowning in mediocrity, oblivious to our impending end. We are satisfied with the bland, content with the merely okay -- no, worse -- we celebrate it, hold it up for all to admire as though the mud-slaked trophy in our hand is actually solid gold. We surround ourselves with so much of it that we convince ourselves it is the real thing. The Real Thing
We are the emperor's new clothes.
We steep ourselves in the superficial, in the cute, fluffy, insubstantial and genuinely believe it is enough -- no, worse -- that it is all there is…that it is everything, and convince ourselves we are content and there is nothing deeper or more worthy of attention or exploration.
We are drowning in the mundane and mistaking it for extraordinary. Because when all about you is the same as far as the eye can see and all of it is varying levels of garbage and vapid-ness, the tiny glittering diamond somewhere in your midst is invisible. Lost. Unrecognizable even if you lay your eyes directly on it because the distraction of all the inconsequential noise, the conveyor belt of never-ending sameness is deafening, blinding, and the devastatingly beautiful right in front of you is obliterated in the groundswell.
There is so much white noise, so many repeating patterns, so many voices poured onto an already oversaturated stage that the one (or two, perhaps even a few) with something of actual consequence to say is…drowned out.
We are drowning in the commonplace and mistaking it for something more because there is too much to discern and separate from. It mixes together until that which would buoy us up above the tide, that which would truly inspire and expand, propel and arouse is so thoroughly lost that it becomes part of the swirl that is dragging us down.
That which would elevate us is bashed about so violently against that which would sink us, that all of it becomes an inescapable whirlpool in which we are all -- waiting to drown.