It is an amazing feeling...to feel well and truly LOST. But before I tell you why I'm lost now, I must tell you I've not always been that way. I actually had a destination...once...
It was an year ago, almost exactly to that date. THEN, my road had a destination. A very real, specific one- something you could see, touch, feel, hear and dream about. Sure there were hurdles in the way, seemingly insurmountable ones at that. But ask Fernando Alonso, once the finish line is in sight, pretty much anything's possible- even defending from a seven-time world champion bearing down on you on his home turf. That slight deviation aside, I was well within striking distance of my finish line then and so, call it motivation, perseverance, hardwork or sheer luck, I reached it...The finish line.
And as I stopped and panted for breath, expecting to be converged by people congratulating and wishing me... I saw to my dismay, that it wasn't the Finish line at all. More like the "one mile to go" line you see in those Tour de France races. And then I saw that the road did stretch out from there...all the way to infinity and beyond. So I ran again...
But one year into the running, I'm beginning to have doubts. I started on the assumption that this run too, like my previous one, would defenitely lead to a destination. But now I see that the road is not single anymore. It branches out- once, twice, thrice... And that is when I suddenly felt fear.
For I'm now not sure why I'm running anymore...rather, I'm not sure I'm running at all. I just seem to be drifting along, carried by the mass of runners same as me but who seem to know where they're headed. So I allow myself to be swept along, to wait and watch, to see if there's any such thing as destination visible in the distance. I waited...
I'm still waiting...
