Explanation: my personal horizon

I am part of all that I have met;
Yet all experience is an arch wherethrough
Gleams that untravelled world, whose margin fades
For ever and for ever when I move.
How dull it is to pause, to make an end,
To rust unburnished, not to shine in use!

(from Tennyson's Ulysses)

Living at the ocean's edge, our horizon is like Ulysses' fading margin. Except... we're not moving. The horizon just sits there, no closer, no farther. Unchanging but for the sky. Sometimes I miss the markers-- mountains, city skylines, midwestern hedgerows even-- that indicate some fixed point by which to measure our progress, or our limits. To remind me I AM moving, in my own small way. The ocean just lies in front of me, waves and tides in constant motion-- alternately soothing or taunting me, according to my mood-- with its advance-retreat-advance-retreat. Relentless as the clock, reminding me that my horizon is fixed, for now, and all of my running about is no more than the motion of the waves.

I know that the markers I'm thinking of are illusions. But they are comforting illusions. The vastness of my horizon frightens me, as does its stillness. I have tasted more of the world than many people I knew as a child. But I have tasted so little, and I'm hungry for more. I want to see and do, taste and hear, create and appreciate.

Do not think I am ungrateful for my present station: mother to four incredible kids; wife of an intelligent, charismatic man. Daughter, sister, friend. I am blessed. But seeking never stops. And while relationships are the greatest part of happiness, there is another element too often neglected by people like myself. Putting everything into my relationship roles has left me feeling like I lack substance of my own. I flit about doing things that are important in mundane ways, but that are in no way creative or original. There must be more to me than this.

I am not rusting unburnished exactly; but neither am I shining in use.