Weeds

Finding your own voice in a sea of words and sound is not easy. Maybe that’s why I haven’t attempted to get my thoughts written down for so long. I’m only a person after all, one individual who undoubtedly has the same thoughts and opinions as at least one other person on this planet.

I have more questions than answers, anyway. Every piece of information I learn just expands the space in my mind that contains what I don’t know, what I will never know. Every new fact I learn lingers for a second, then categorizes itself somewhere in my brain while the questions I have simultaneously multiply like weeds. No matter how many dandelions I pick, more keep popping up. This makes me feel full of hope but also full of despair, depending on how I am choosing to view the world on a given day. I have only touched the tip of the iceberg in what I know to be true, and no matter how fast I get my thoughts down on paper, there are more pushing at the floodgates.

There is something to be said for a valiant attempt, though, which is what I will make. Perhaps among the plethora of dandelions that are my thoughts, there is a tiger lily or a wild rose. But even if there isn’t, just because dandelions are many does not mean they are any less beautiful in kind. They were all once seeds that were watered and nurtured by soil, later becoming something greater.

That is how all great ideas start out. As small, meek seeds. They cannot blossom and spread to form a garden until they are planted in the first place.

And nobody objects to beholding a garden in a world of copper and steel.