There are those who were latchkey kids, kids who didn’t have the ‘right’ clothes, were bullied at school, friendless…kids that endured self-indulgent, monstrous parents.
Some who had it rough. Like, real rough. Dirt poor, beaten, sexually abused, neglected, starved…abandoned.
There are folks who were never shown an ounce of love. Not nurtured, not praised, not cared for, not raised.
There’s the temptation to think; if only we had…which brings us to the people who had a solid upbringing, unconditional love…money galore and chose to piss it all away on material possessions and self-abuse…early ending lives. Spoiled and severely unhappy, lonely, effed up, tragic humans.
Then there are individuals whose success, fame and wealth seem to lead to a balanced and gratified existence. An existence suffused with paying it forward.
The world is full of different kinds of people with different principles, morals and motives. What makes us what we are? What makes us what we become?
At the risk of a cliché, life is what we make of it. It really is. We can let our journey make us, break us, drag down or define us, but the path we walk is our choice and every day is a new dawn because the rest is still Unwritten…
“I am unwritten
Can’t read my mind
I’m just beginning
Pen’s in my hand
Staring at the blank page before you
Open up the dirty window
Let the sun illuminate the words
That you could not find
Drench yourself in words unspoken
Live your life with arms wide open
Today is where your book begins
The rest is still unwritten” (Natasha Beddingfield)