The Unseen Strings

The Unseen Strings

In the muted light of this overcast morning, I find myself trapped in a labyrinth of thoughts, the question echoing off its walls: do people really control how we feel? Or is it all just smoke and mirrors, a trick of the mind, cloaking us in emotions we mistakenly think were handed to us by someone else?

It's a dance, isn't it? This constant back and forth between happiness and sorrow. They say words can cut deeper than a knife, slice through your defenses and leave you bleeding out on the floor of your own despair. But who's really holding that knife? Is it them... or is it us?

I remember, not so long ago, standing on the edge of a crowd, in a room soaked in the kind of opulence that makes your eyes ache. Wedding bells, laughter, and the shimmer of sequined dresses. I told her she was a vision in her gown, her joy a beacon. Her eyes narrowed, laughter lines retreating as she mistook my sincerity for sarcasm. The air between us chilled, my words hanging, suspended, turned to ash. She chose that moment. She chose to wrap herself in offense rather than hear the honesty in my voice.

And then, there was him. Let's call him Mike. Not exactly the poster boy for what society deems attractive - short, with more scalp than hair and a face that knew the intimate embrace of acne. But God, was he a force of nature. Striding into bars with the confidence of a man who had the world at his feet, approaching women as though rejection was a concept as alien to him as despair. And when faced with it? A shrug, a grin, and a "Your loss, darling." He never gave anyone the power to dim his light. Not once.

It's this chaotic, messy, beautiful realization – we’re the gods of our own internal universe. Your emotions aren't puppets for others to manipulate, dancing to the tune of someone else's whims. You're the one holding the strings. You, alone, can plunge into sorrow or soar into bliss. The world doesn’t hand you "buckets of happiness" or "tins of sadness." Those are constructs, figments, born from the echoes of your own thoughts.

Take the mundane mornings, soaked in the lethargy of routine. The monotonous exchange of "Good mornings" that taste like stale coffee on your tongue. Even there, you have a choice. Drown in the drudgery or find the magic in the mundane. Paint it with the colors of your own making, tint it with optimism or shade it with despair. But remember, it's your hand on the brush.

Most wander through life on autopilot, disconnected from the raw intensity of their emotions, forgetting the strength simmering beneath the surface. Like marionettes unaware they could simply cut the strings and walk free. But not you. Not after this. Feel the power coursing through your veins, the exhilarating freedom of emotional autonomy.

You can choose. When rejection tries to sink its claws into you, remember, it’s their loss, not yours. When insults fly, remember, they’re battling their own demons. It’s not about you. It’s never been about you.

So, stand up. Shake the dust from your soul. Take a breath and dive deep into the tumultuous sea of your own being. Find there the pearls of joy and strands of sorrow, knowing both are yours to wield, not to be handed to you by another.

In this journey of life, cluttered with expectations and dreams, realize you are the author of your own narrative. Feelings aren’t currency to be exchanged but treasures to be discovered within.

So, what will it be? Will you continue to allow the world to color your canvas? Or will you seize the brush, painting your days with the hues of your own choosing?

Remember, in the grand tapestry of existence, the only strings attached are the ones you decide to pull.