I am not a poet, nor have I ever written a poem…

This “piece,” as I choose to call it, came to me late one evening as I sat at my desk staring at my calendar, feeling overwhelmed by the “appointments” and the “to-do’s” scribbled all over the page. Only the four Wednesdays were absent of dates and each one was marked with large “X” …my one day-a-week to affirm the so-called artist that I believed I was. I felt sad and disappointed with myself for squandering my time with no regard for the needs of the creative self.

I picked up a pen and from somewhere deep inside me these words tumbled swiftly and silently onto the page, spelling out the quandary of my life.

The Examined Life

To be honest with one’s friends is to be true to one’s self.

To be honest is to risk offending,

but to withhold is to incur obscurity.

If being congruent is a value, must I always be the same?

If being authentic is a goal, may I never plan the game?

If I wish to partake in the activities of the world,

I must reach out – take action – participate;

but if I desire to create, I must withdraw,

welcome silence, separate.

To evolve as a human is to change;

to change is to leave behind,

to leave behind is to suffer loss;

to suffer loss is to make room for the unknown.

Is there a value in what is, just because it has always been?

Is there a gift in the new, only because

it has never been?

The questions and quandaries of existence will

always torment the examined life.

The apparent ease and superficiality of the unexamined life

will forever mirror the alternative choice.

Can I, in my aloneness, fill my need for belonging?

Can I, as part of the group, fulfill my longing for solitude?

To question is to paralyze.

To question is to learn.

To question is to evolve.

To question is to continue to question.

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