Self awareness is a virtue, often touted but rarely put into practice. I’m guilty of this as much as any one else, really. Yet I still have my moments of clarity and on this dreariest of days I find myself seeing quite clearly. I don’t always find myself able to accept that which I can not change and as a result, I have a tendency to yell at clouds.

That’s right. All too often I look to the skies and yell about nothing at all. Words that should have meaning evaporate as quickly as I utter them. Perhaps it’s not the substance of what I’m saying so much as it’s the style. The political, the personal, these are realms in which I can affect change, I know this. But I owe myself some diligence in that regard. Screaming at the clouds may grant some temporary catharsis, but they’re not going anywhere.

The nature of political discourse has left me stuck with a miasma of incredulity that I can’t seem to wash off. It’s my kind of stink, really. I want to scream about Trump and the GOP, and Beto O’Rourke not being the messianic figure that will deliver us to perfection that he’s made out to be. I want to be enraged about these things and that’s why no one really listens. They shouldn’t. I might actually have some thoughtful analysis to offer up and I think it’s time I do that instead. I can channel that rage into something better, something more meaningful. I’ve got to stop carrying on about these things, accept what I can’t change in the here and now, and try to impart what little wisdom I do have in a way that is clear and not clouded by my own anger.

I like to bemoan my lot in life, but what do I do to change it? This is a thing people do. We have clarity enough, that level of self awareness that tells us that occasional changes must be made, but we think this change will be visited upon us rather than coming from within. Maybe it’s because I feel like I’ve changed quite a bit over the last year or so, in fact I know that I have. And still there remains little if anything to show for it. I look better, I feel good, happiness isn’t as elusive as it once was but I’m not exactly awash in it. I’m failing to take these final steps on my own path toward perfection. Perhaps I should realize that there is no tangible form of perfection, there’s only an acceptable level of something good and embracing it as such. Maybe my form of perfection is finally just accepting that which is good.

I can keep cursing the gods all I want. Those beautiful masses of condensation will continue to move through the sky with their own purpose. Gesticulating wildly at them is not going to get me where I should be. No more yelling at the clouds. That shit is for the birds.