Lately, I feel small.
I am small. I am so small, and the world is big, and it turns on its big axis, and the large sun shines its great rays and warms the giant oceans. People around me are big and they carry their big dreams with them in tow, grasping them firmly, and on their way toward dreams and running full speed toward some grand end.
And I am here, in a seemingly smaller world of my own that is seemingly apart from this big world around me. My small world is one where waking up in the morning and putting two small feet on the ground is a victory. Where working full-time is about as adventurous and big as I get.
Perhaps I need to stop comparing myself to others. I may be small, but I am who I am. My world may be small, but I am where I am. I may do small things, but I do what I do. This is the season I am in. A season of small. It will pass—or it will grow. But right now? Small.
I feel small because all of my big dreams are still so far out of my reach, even as I strive toward them. I’m held back by the small but real chains of the here-and-now, the tiny ropes of reality reminding me that I really am kind of stuck here, even if it is just for a time.
But at night, I think about where I want to go, what I yearn to do, who I want to be, and those dreams feel so heavy, so unattainable, so far away.
I am small. I am so, so small. And the world is big. Reality is massive. But my dreams are somewhere amidst all of that.
Some day, my small little self with search through the mire and find them. I’ll grab them and run with them full speed toward grander and greater ends.
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