The Path

by Grant Harvey Dudson
(London, England)

The Path

Where does the battling end? What do we battle for? Happiness? What is happiness? One man's gain is another man's loss. It's a funny old world, full of mystery. So much of everything. So much food yet so much starvation. The less privileged, the more they want money. The more privileged, the more they want to lead a simple life. Does good exist without bad? Could good exist without the knowledge of bad? Isn't it, by the nature of comparison how we come to know what good is? What's the difference between a self-made millionaire and one who has had it all handed to them? It's surely the sense of achievement, the memories of hardship, struggle and experiencing that first "Yes, we believe in you." To know what it feels like to be in that very very dark tunnel with a pin prick of light giving you the ever so distant eye. The hurt that rumbles deep down because you can't seem to shake off the voices saying, "Give up, you're not good enough."

Well I'm not a self made millionaire and I'm certainly not a made one. I am in fact looking at that speck of light because I'm stuck in the tunnel with a head pounded by doubting voices. Though in this tunnel I grow. I strive to find new things to keep me striving. I'm heading for that light and I'm going to catch it. But if I don't, which I will, but if I don't, I will die knowing that I at least traveled down the same path as the many great people of life. To know their footsteps have walked the same path makes it a path worth walking for as long as it takes.