Move me

I'm always surprised by how much art in any form can move me. Books that make me want to drop everything and travel to a far off place just to feel the air there. Music that makes me want to be in love. Films that break my heart and move me to true sadness. Stories that make me want to be a better person, to do more than I would have ever expected of myself or anyone else. Sculpture that bates my breath, making me feel as though I've seen beauty for the first time. And paintings, drawings, and photographs that transport me through every memory, reliving moments in my life so vividly that I can feel them all over again.

What is it that makes all of this so real to me? Sometimes I think that I should have pursued art. At various times in my life I wanted to be an architect, a poet, a musician, a photographer, a novelist, and a filmmaker, among other things. It's not too late to do any or all of these things. But there is a part of me that knows I couldn't, because I couldn't fight for them. Would I fight for what is beautiful as hard as I would fight for what is right and just? It seems an overly broad question, a question that in this context may not even make sense to anyone but myself. I think though that it's a question that is always in the back of my mind guiding the decisions that I make. I've loved beauty as long as I can remember but I feel duty toward what is right and just. Which is stronger, love or duty? They pull me in such opposite directions that I wonder if I'd ever be happy going just one way. Perhaps that's why I wander the middle ground.