The Way…
They told me what the Dream was and they told me how to attain it. The way they talked, it was as if it was a map that could be followed from Point A to Point B. Foolproof. They only told me, though. They never showed me. I wondered about that for a bit, but the answer came quick. You can’t show someone something you don’t have. Nevertheless, I wrote down the way and I stuffed the paper in my pocket for another day.
After a couple years and some careful consideration, the destination looked good, but I didn’t like the map. So I set it on fire and took off running through the streets, a general picture of the destination in my head and determination in my chest. I ran through traffic and dodged cars. I jumped fences, violated borders. I entertained the company of any path that seemed like a shortcut. I ran fast and I ran hard. My heart beat in my ears and my lungs burned in my throat. My eyes watered from the wind and my legs screamed for me to stop. But I had burned the map and intensity was the only way to make up the time lost to a poor sense of direction. I ran fast and I ran hard and I don’t remember a single thing about the trip. But eventually I ended up exactly where they said I was supposed to be.
I had achieved the American Dream. I walked around in that place for awhile. It was pretty empty and the people that did inhabit reminded me of the zombies I had seen on TV. Cycles. That’s all they had. Cycles and secondary experience. Everything looked the same. Their wasn’t much virtue aside from the firm belief in assumptions based on other assumptions. And when I looked really close, everything was built on quicksand.
I once had the American Dream. But I gave it back. My own dreams are way fucking brighter. So are yours. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.