COME, my tan-faced children, Follow well in order, get your weapons ready;
Have you your pistols? have you your sharp edged axes? Pioneers! O pioneers!
For we cannot tarry here,
We must march my darlings, we must bear the brunt of danger,
We, the youthful sinewy races, all the rest on us depend, Pioneers! O pioneers!
Leaves of Grass - Pioneers! O Pioneers! - Walt Whitman
Like over a decade ago and again at the start of the Koyaanisqatsi, I'm feeling compelled to uproot and go forth into the great unknown of newer horizons.
I sit here in my little room, since that is what it is, and wait in fear.
I fear the dark.
I fear the light.
I just fear.
It consumes me and I can't shake it.
Many people wait until their fear leaves them. Mine isn't budging. So I must leave it.
And with hope and a little bit of luck, unfortunately two things I traditionally lack, I will leave it behind me as I blaze a new path for myself.
Somewhere.
Anywhere else.