What Kind Of Fool

      About a year ago I started experiencing a vague restlessness. I recognized this was not my normal wanderlust – I have always been drawn to what is around the next corner, over the next hill. This was not even my companion desire to slip away; to avoid the very repetition in which others find comfort.   

      This was something new – a slowly growing “awareness” of my surroundings as if I had been living for years in a fog, and for no purposed reason on my part, that masking grey shroud was lifting.

      When did adequate become acceptable? When did mundane become marvelous? It occurred to me that I’ve been directing more and more plays of late. I thought I had been moving toward something. But what? True, the work is enjoyable, but the thrill only comes now when the shows are bigger and bigger and bigger …

      I’ve become jaded, complacent. Blindfolded.

      Last weekend my eyes were opened. For the first time I realized that I had been settling for considerably less than I could have. I had dreams once, and a very keen appreciation of more than manufactured truth and beauty.

      The dreams eroded. Can’t blame anyone but myself. I sold myself cheap. 

      The dreams came back. Inspiration unexpectedly handed to me; a gift.

      What shall I do? What will I do?

      I shall take inspiration by the hand and look for bright horizons.

     This time I will settle for nothing less. 

     j