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Writing Blog 3

We Never Have Our Shit Together

Roderick Campbell

by Janne Robinson

Fuck bucket lists.

Fuck figuring it all out and having our shit together before we land our penguin.

Carve a pebble out of whatever you have—it’ll do.

Better yet, be your own god damn penguin.

We are constantly trying to be so “together.”

Make x amount of money, live in x neighbourhood, drive x car, be x weight.

After I’ve made “x” meet “z.”

Be your own Z!

Live vicariously through yourself.

No one is good enough to do the things you wish to do, other than you.

And for the love of all things—don’t wait to travel till you are retired, and tired and go sit slathering tanning oil on your body, taking zumba classes, eating out of feeding troughs at safe gated communities.

Don’t look back and wish you had swum naked in mangroves with crocodiles, white egrets and covered your body in clay.

Don’t wait to fall in love until you drive some stupid limited edition hunka metal with wheels and make a six digit salary.

Things, things, things.

We are a society with such a hard on for things.

Just go—go do the things you love.

Travel to the places you wish to breathe the air.

Stop waiting for life to hold your hand.

Stop waiting till you have your shit together.

Having our shit together is a myth—even when we are standing still, the earth is moving.

It’s impossible to keep up with ourselves.

The moon is full, the sky is orange and the ylang ylang blossoms are in bloom—today.

The only word worth saying today is go.