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Pieter Bruegel the Elder: Landscape with the Fall of Icarus
"I'm not supposed to know beforehand, but propel my work with faith, …"

I seem to seek significance here, where meaning is king and obscurity dear. My reputation sticks to my heels like shadows and my futures sometimes seem so uncertain and shallow. I seek some opening, an opportunity to shine, while I seem most afraid that someone else might get 'mine.' I sometimes shimmer green-eyed jealous, zero-sum at some level, as I seek my salvation with the help of some devils. It's a tough row to hoe here, of that I've no doubt, but I still hold enough promise to believe in myself. Have I built myself a set of wings set in wax or just plowed rocky fields while surveying the hind end of an ass? I'm engaged in my business, whatever that might be besides waxing and promoting a brand you'd call me. I'm not just in this for myself, though, for I engage in the kind of work that doesn't make much dough.

Oh, some mornings I'd certainly gladly pretend to be striving and driving as I once did back when.
I'd possess a trajectory and a schedule to guide me and I wouldn't doubt my resilience inside for a moment. I'd move through the world like a dream through water, never once wondering whether I shouldn't or ought'er. I'd carry a certain fierceness along with my love and not seek reassurances from any presence above. I'd leverage some buy-out and corner a market and when something would fail, I'd sanguinely chuck it to the side of a wide-open road. I'd be a force to be reckoned with where ever I'd go.

But I think myself too humble for that. I cannot quite seem to bring myself to smack down anyone else in the game. I try to keep my head down without ever once blaming anyone or any thing for my fate, still believing I'm Mattering before it's too late. No, I have not retired and I'm not really even that tired yet. I think I have fewer regrets than most fellows, though I probably don't and most likely never will. I've declined opportunities and tried to stay mellow without stumbling into complicity's grasp. Still, I'm complicit, whatever my task. I once held a compass which helped me stay course and reinforce aspirations which, thank heavens, came to little or nought. I guess I ought to do something to muffle my nattering, but it's all just a part of me doing my Mattering.

I'm coming to understand that those who accomplish stuff that really matters, more or less constantly natter. I think of my own nattering as my guidance system, always vigilant, always judging, seeking to fine-tune my course. I have no idea where I'm heading, of course, but fine-tuning's a necessity at worst. The voices in my head endlessly whispering into my ears, and I seem to heed whatever I hear. I wonder sometimes if I've rendered myself deaf between my nattering, mumbling, Mattering, and yet, I can imagine no other way to live. Wisdom might reside wherever one hides, whether in a head or in the bullrushes. The Mattering resides in motion, of this one fact I feel certain. I'm not supposed to know beforehand, but propel my work with faith, the sort of beliefs needing endless reassurances and its fair share of fate. SmallThings Mattering.

©2019 by David A. Schmaltz - all rights reserved

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