The Frontier: a Constant Frustration, a Constant Struggle

The frontier is something to be explored, but I don't know if it is a place to live.

The frontier forces us to adapt to our environment, but I don't know if it is always best for us.

The frontier is hard, but I don't know if I should be, too.

Frustrations are common here. The frontier is reality. Whether we like it or not, it is what looms in the distance, it is what surrounds us, and it is what beats us to hell. We are drawn out in to it by a nagging feeling that everything will be better out here, for some reason. It calls to us, and we answer with all of who we are; we answer with our lives. We can explore it, and some can live with it. But, some can't. I hope I can. I think I will.

Whatever drew us out here doesn't matter anymore. It's not important once you get away from everything. Things change. We change. I suppose we have to adapt in some way, if we plan to keep on like we have. I hope I can. I think I will.

Yes, things are hard out here. I know that now. Maybe I always knew it, and I just didn't want to admit it. Things seemed brighter for some reason. They always seem brighter when you want them to be. Maybe I should adapt; maybe I should change. If I am not as hard as the frontier, I will not be a part of it. I must be, or I won't be. To what end, I don't know. I will be hard. I know it.

An Easier Way

Sometimes death sounds a lot easier than life. I'm sure that sounds a little more grim than I intend for it to be. But, when I live, I disappoint people and I find more ways to overextend myself. Maybe the two are related. I'm sure they are, actually. And, it's not as if I am actively seeking out death, but I'm not sure I'm avoiding it either. It's just easier that way. 

It's cold out here on the frontier. I guess I shouldn't have ventured this far north. Spring is coming, they say. I think I can make it. 

A Good Man

No one out on the frontier cares if I am an utter failure or a disappointment. Perhaps that's why I like it out here. Sometimes, civilization seems to be nothing more than a clustering of unobtainable expectations. Some people seem to want you to fail. Other people failing makes them look better--or at least feel better about themselves. Maybe it's the same thing. I'm not sure I care anymore. When I'm out here on the frontier, the only expectations that matter are my own. I'm guided by my own standards.

I'm a good man. A good man, according to me.