Making A Universe

I love starting over.
I really, really love starting over.
I love trains, I love my memories of being on trains. It was cold, extremely cold in Chicago when I stepped off of one train and into the next in February, a day before I suddenly appeared in the kitchen of a dear friend.
Whenever I feel horrible, or wonderful, or nothing at all I daydream of starting over. Of hopping on a plane, train or automobile and running off somewhere. I love feeling like I’m not limited in the least. I can become anything, go anywhere, see anyone, do anything. I could go anywhere I want to.
For the longest time I’ve been inspired the most by the potential of people and situations. That has been the driving force behind so many of my actions.
This means I have a short attention span, and that I’m impulsive and impatient and immature and selfish and emotional and unfair.
It’s incredibly easy to put other people before myself as long as I get a taste of the good outcome. A hit of dopamine, an opportunity, money.
This means I always feel guilty, and paranoid. I trust people very easily and end up disliking them when they don’t meet my expectations of being wonderful people. Everyone starts out as a superhero in my mind.
If I know you, there is something about you right away that I wanted to imitate. It doesn’t matter if I don’t want to have what you have now, or if I dislike you now, at some point very shortly after I became aware of your existence, I saw something about you that I wanted to add to my personality so I could improve myself.
My life has been wanting things. More than that trying to get them. Trying to get recognition and approval and beauty and wit and security and love and happiness and greatness. Mostly greatness, followed by beauty.
When I turned eighteen I was terrified. Because I was suddenly old. An adult. More was expected of me. The little things I did that seemed to impress and amuse people were now no use. I had to develop a real brain and real skills and a real personality.
Potential still drives everything I do, because it still inspires like nothing else. I start to curl in on myself when I imagine something I create just wilting or getting beaten beyond recognition with well-deserved criticism and then finally dying off after countless useless attempts at reviving a very dead idea.
But then I imagine what it CAN be, and holy crap. It could be something that just shocks people with the emotional impact, it could inspire other people, it could become something great and massive and different, it could grow and change, awesome people whose words I gawk at could get involved. People I’ve never met and will never meet would know about this thing I made and feel things that you only feel once in a very long while. It could be a universe of incredible creativity and a force of emotional steel that no one would forget, that they couldn’t help thinking and talking about.
I just love that idea, of just wrapping people’s brains in this creative universe.