And what's your verse going to be?

 “Define yourself.” 


But, you see, the thing about definitions is that they are absolute, inacceptable of change. My life is quite the contrary, so, I don’t think I have a definition. But that’s where the philosophical thoughts step in. The 3 AM “when your dog eats your philosophy homework” vibes. Reading crime books and then confirming “well, at least that’s not my definition.” Finding peace in something I am not. And, watching self-motivation movies because you feel really low. That was what “define yourself” did to me. 


But on the brighter side, that was how I got to know about the movie “Dead Poets Society.” I honestly watched it just because it has the words, “dead poets”, the two words which I love separately. I still watch it whenever I am down, and it surely has the same impact. But the thing that stayed with me after the very first watch was a part of the verse mentioned in it: 


“... the powerful play goes on,

And you may contribute a verse, 

What’s your verse going to be?”


And even with the chaotic mindset, or the seemingly wise one, it was tough, for whoever I was, to think of one. 


To think of how powerful, and yet so real it seemed that the play goes on when each of us contributes something. To come to the realization of the significance the tiniest of your presence can make. But, premature us!


We always tend to misinterpret things. We have chances. But just the missed ones. What life would one live if he had the chance to go, open the cage, and yet, scared enough, chose the prison? It was a choice, wasn’t it? His own choice. And, yet the trepidation remains. Choosing not to go somewhere out of “lack of validation” and then chilling with the stars having an apple soda while Stairway to heaven plays on the headphones. Waking up to nightmares and finishing trilogy books three nights in a row. Superficially, everything was alright, but wasn’t I still the sleep deprived zombie seeking validation among the stars? I was. There isn’t anything to deny it. And somewhere, it was a choice. A choice driven out of fear. Now this changes the paradigm! 


There was indeed a regularity and thus, the question. Life did feel like a definition when it actually wasn’t. I used to read books; I still do. And God how poetic life in books and poems is. Was I reading the wrong books? Or worse, was I living the wrong life? There were questions. Open questions. Unanswered. And I wasn’t even sure if they had any.


From complete nuisance to an attempt of trying to find out what life was and then what my verse would be, I guess the only matured thing I did was that I trusted the process. I loved and lived it. The process which taught me to once remove the headphones and put the can aside, and then, find the meaning of the stars. To look from a bigger and a wider perspective and instead of waiting for others to validate your presence, why not give a shout out to your name for trying? The process that taught me that aiming big wasn’t going to solve the existential crisis, aiming right was. 


There were clues everywhere. Miniature changes. A little glamor of serenity also reminded me that even the verses, they won’t be absolute either. Your life value changes with you, so when your time of a drop off comes, you will be a newer person. You can’t let the present outdo your maybe-better-future. But, nevertheless, if I had to, it wouldn’t be a verse. Maybe a statement. 


You just have to have the push in the right direction, rest is physics. Everything will eventually work out. 

 

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