The World Has Worn Me Out

I love writing. I love it. Every morning I head over to Medium thinking about writing something. And some days I do.

But for what feels like forever, I haven’t. I haven’t because the world has worn me out. Between shootings and politics and friends fighting all kinds of cancers and more shootings and more politics and yes, another friend trying not to die, I just can’t.

I know, I’ll just write another post on startups:

• Being a founder is hard;

• Running a company is hard;

• You will fail unless you get fucking lucky; and truthfully,

• you won’t.

I’m tired. I’m tired of the fighting. I’m tired with the talk about the lack of diversity. I am tired of the talk about the country. I am just fucking tired.

I wish people would stop talking and start doing. I wish I would stop being tired and start doing. Doing is dope. Talking is crap.

But I feel the inertia of complacency, and the uncertainty of action. I see most of my contemporaries shaking spears, but very few shutting mouths.

What is wrong with us? How did we allow this world to become the world we are living in?

The world has worn me out, and I have nothing left. I will keep clicking hearts and thumbs and other fucking stupid things. I will continue to marvel at friends dressing up and dancing in deserts as I continually explore how I can do something small, something meaningful.

But until then, I just can’t write. I can’t express the heat and weight that leans against my heart. I can’t explain the tears that come and the shivers, yes fucking shivers, when I listen and read the rhetoric that we are spewing at each other.

I want to live in a world where I am proud to participate. Where I am blow away by the beauty we are putting into it. Where each person makes me smile just by being alive.

But that’s not this world. This world has worn me out.