There’s a space between where I am and where I want to be.
A distance between who I am and the person I feel I ought to be.
No matter how far I’ve traveled and no matter how far I’ll travel there’s a place I’m afraid I’ll never reach.
Like the moon on a midnight drive or the horizon out at sea. It could be 3 miles away, it could be an eternity.
Is this restlessness what keeps me from living? Or is this striving what it means to be alive?