Sometimes, I think about how I will be remembered, and I romanticize it a little, like I’m some bodhisattva that figured it all out. I’m remembered and celebrated as a kind man, a generous man, a loving man who promoted understanding and presence, connection and community, self and selflessness, all in one.

Other times, it’s a little darker. I didn’t make it. People talk about how I was always searching for peace, for happiness, for some kind of reason in the universe that would make it all make sense. That all I wanted was love and connection, to be myself with others without judgment or condemnation. To be able to withstand with a guiltless smile any judgment or condemnation that came my way. To be able to turn it all around and sway people to a greater understanding, a greater kindness, a greater love.

And of course, I never found it, and that was the primary cause of all the strife and frustration in my life. My unhappiness was driven by my inability to find my way to that peace.

That requires people paying attention, and I think the saddest commentary on my life as it is, is that I don’t know if that’s true. I don’t know that anyone understands this. I’m just another guy. Another asshole. Another feckless, insignificant loser.

That’s sort of the reasoning behind keeping this blog/journal public. Maybe when I’m gone, someone will find it, read it and understand.

I just wanted to be good. To be happy. To be surrounded by good, happy people. Easy people. Loving people. People who understand.

Target: 400 words
Written: 267 words, novella: The Mungk