ab initio, ad infinitum

connection.

C O N N E C T I O N .

I love how humans create. I love how we are drawn to beauty and to ugliness, how we see some magnificence in the ordinary that we feel possessed to capture. How we strive for our legacies to be beautiful pieces of art that carry parts of souls far beyond our bodily end.

I love how we are overcome with the urge to make, to share our stories and perspectives. Parts of our souls scream out in loneliness, aching to be seen, begging to be heard. Parts of our souls wish to share comfort, hugging strangers with our memory, guiding others through a stunning mosaic of experience. I love how we always look for connection.

I think we're always searching for a piece of ourselves that we think that we're missing. I think that's what I'm doing, in any case. I keep searching, my body calling out to that something that I seem to be missing. It's why I always look for connections, in the hope that the connections that the new day brings just might be it.

Maybe that's why I write; hoping against all hope that someone will hear me, that someone will see me. The statement sounds dramatic and tragic written on paper, but I promise it's not. It's simple and it's warm. It's not desperation, it's just the embers of hope that keep you warm on winter days.

Funnily enough, I think that I leave bits of myself as I write and create in my journey of finding what I'm missing, leaving a breadcrumb trail of my being behind me. Maybe someone will find those little bits, and maybe that will be the parts that they are missing.

It's so mind-blowing, come to think of it. Unknowingly, we're helping people around us constantly, sharing and exploring with complete strangers, even when we don't know. The beauty of art is that it never rots, meaning it still holds value centuries later. Long after you have decomposed and returned to the soil that birthed you, a complete stranger will meet you, and maybe fall in love, and maybe find whatever they're looking for.

I used to think it was tragic, how I keep losing bits of myself as I seek to become whole. But maybe it's not tragic after all. Maybe this is the opposite of a tragedy. Instead, it's a story of lending a hand to others, filling in the gaps they didn't know they had. It's the story of leaving parts of yourself for others, and taking in more of the world around you and the people in it, to fill in your own shortcomings.

Maybe those missing pieces were what we needed all along. Maybe we'll never be whole, not in the way we anticipate. Our remaining piece may not be one that blends in with who we think we are, but rather, pieces of others. And so, we form a mosaic, full of differently stained glasses, reflecting light to create a masterpiece that otherwise would not be possible. Maybe our cracks were never meant to be mended in a way that is not noticeable; maybe they were meant to be filled with gold, shining and stark and bold.

Needing others is not a flaw; it's what makes us stronger, an alloy of metals. It's what makes our lives rich, full of things we could never know or live or experience in our short, measly lives. Needing others is what lets our lives transcend our own.

We need people. We need them to listen, we need them to listen to. We need them for loving and holding and caring. We need them to remind us of our ugliest bits and the reasons we keep on going and the parts that are so beautiful that we cannot see in ourselves.

For all their flaws, I love humans.

I love how we ache and care and must create, must leave an impact, must connect. It's all we have at the end of the day. And it's that which makes us so human.

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