everyday is a journey.
He that of such a height hath built his mind,
And reared the dwelling of his thoughts so strong,
As neither fear nor hope can shake the frame
Of his resolved powers; nor all the wind
Of vanity or malice pierce to wrong
His settled peace, or to disturb the same:
What a fair seat hath he, from whence he may
The boundless wastes and wilds of man survey?
--Samuel Daniel.
I cannot help, but feel a certain camaraderie with the following poem. Even though it is speaking of a nomad, a wanderer, I have also felt like I didn't fit in this world. The one place where I feel this the most happens to be my workplace. One could be in a room surrounded by throngs of people and still feel alone. That's me at work.
Being different is not something new to me. When I was growing up, I was the foreigner, the greenhorn from another country who spoke with an accent. In my twenties. I was the single, young mother with two children. I was always breaking all the rules of society. I didn't drink, smoke pot nor go to clubs. It's no different now. I have a huge variety of diverse friends and that's how I like it.
The Men That Don't Fit In
There's a race of men that don't fit in,
A race that can't stay still;
So they break the hearts of kith and kin,
And they roam the world at will.
They range the field and they rove the flood,
And they climb the mountain's crest;
Theirs is the curse of the gypsy blood,
And they don't know how to rest.
If they just went straight they might go far;
They are strong and brave and true;
But they're always tired of the things that are,
And they want the strange and new.
They say: "Could I find my proper groove,
What a deep mark I would make!"
So they chop and change, and each fresh move
Is only a fresh mistake.
And each forgets, as he strips and runs
With a brilliant, fitful pace,
It's the steady, quiet, plodding ones
Who win in the lifelong race.
And each forgets that his youth has fled,
Forgets that his prime is past,
Till he stands one day, with a hope that's dead,
In the glare of the truth at last.
He has failed, he has failed; he has missed his chance;
He has just done things by half.
Life's been a jolly good joke on him,
And now is the time to laugh.
Ha, ha! He is one of the Legion Lost;
He was never meant to win;
He's a rolling stone, and it's bred in the bone;
He's a man who won't fit in.
Have A blessed day everyone.
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