You can't wait for inspiration. You have to go after it with a club.

Jack London

The forever cliched climactic scene of the character watching their reflection in a pool of water. My lake was tranquil and clear, matching depictions in every movie before me. I sought this lake out. I spent months searching for this perfect lake. A lake that would prompt meaningful growth for my character, here I took the first step on my new journey into the future.

I thought I would.

I wanted to be happy; I always asked this reflection, how do I become happy? What do I sacrifice from my life to obtain this emblematic future?

I watched the lake during sunrise, the world not yet disturbed by the singing birds, or buzzing gnats, desiring the same for myself, a new meaning for my life. Every morning my reflection and I would lock eyes, tepid, longing, seeking, lost, always lost. Yet what I saw as something prowling at the surface waiting to pounce never came to fruition. Despite the countless moments I deluded myself into the belief of symbolic meanings, there never was one.

Why does not the water answer my questions? Why regardless of plagiarizing of cinematic geniuses, do I not find their found meaning? Why is it always with trembling eyes and quivering lips? Forced to turn away with tearful cheeks, myself abandoned in a haze.

I strolled out of the forest before the haze surrounding the lake could disperse. Like the haze; on my mind unable to be cleared. I could never see out to the other side of the lake; I never tried to. I wished so hard for this part of the lake to be my answer. I never bothered to see what else was to offer. To find what else could be on the other side of this morning haze-shrouded water. The water reflection never led to meaningful resolve; instead found for me in a wine glass.

The wine's pale purple hue obscured my face from meaningful descriptors. I could not make out the meaning in my eyes, too fuzzy from the erstwhile sips: lips slightly parted, breath slowly escaped between them. My thoughts ordinarily ran a mile a minute, darting from subject to topic at the drop of a hat. My brain was uniquely silent. I not even then acknowledged the fact of the fateful moment. I found not then an answer for every time I went out to the water. Instead found, I asked the wrong question to clear the fog.

I do not know what about that day was different from every day before it; what specific triggers allowed the gnawing sensation for character growth to finally be alleviated. I only know the wine, the silent mind, and the immediate acceptance of what was next.

I wanted to be happy, a common desire for a hedonist, but I now asked myself what happiness is, not how to be happy. I constantly wanted to be happy, but I never stood back and wondered what happiness even was.

To help those on this same journey I am writing this journal; created on my venture to subdue this new gnawing desire not to be forgotten.