Manic

I awake slowly, the energy building. It's as if currents of the earth shifted overnight and began to flow through me as I slept. Most of the time you can ignore this kind of pinko hogwash. Maybe like me you know it exists but life is generally easier if you don't focus on it. Then one morning you find yourself swept up in the flow. I'm convinced I'm the best kind of manic. I am a current rider. I was born for this somehow; to wait, shivering with anticipation for years, sometimes even dormant with slack will, biding time without knowing when it will end for the river to jump its banks and find me.

I'm writing this for you, so you know you're not alone. We burn brighter than most. It's not something I asked for. I was born like this. It's something I've learned to cultivate. I'm warm in a cold room, the blankets in any bed are almost always too much, sitting still for any length of time is far outside my interest. Moving uphill under stormy skies on some rocky mountain I'm in the eye of the storm, surrounded by energy, gathering what I need to myself to fly higher. Downhill is uncomfortable and slow. Uphill I flow.

I love comfort like any human shaped by a thousand generations to equate comfort with life; I'm no fool. And yet, discomfort and struggle and mighty goals call to me, a siren song to personal culmination. This will to power is applied to anything; the mechanics of roasting coffee, the structure of a backpack, the clear path I glory in laying out from ignorance to excellence.

I'm impatient with inefficiency, offended by the improper use of our all our human time. The shuffling line to board a plane, the long preambles of business, the slow driver in the fast lane. That's not to say I'm pushy or a bully or a reckless driver. I am convinced that we each have the right to live our own experience, and the general inconvenience that is a side effect of giving someone the right to fumble through their experience is well worth the personal freedom we each have.