Do you see my struggle, Gatsby?

So I stare out into the distance, across the dying expanse of field, towards the fading horizon as the merging stripes of the sun's colorful rays glimmer off the mountains. I stare deeply into the setting sun, allowing my eyes to adjust to the radiance that is there. So beautiful, yet also so deadly.

A blinking red dot out in the distance shifts my eyes from this beautiful display of God's awesome power. I can no longer look out on the horizon without seeing it; that painful reminder that love will always be my Gatsby struggle. Every morning I wake up with the hope that the light has gone out or that my attempt to reach it will be achieved that day. Every day! Do you know how difficult that is to know that your dream eludes you each and every time you look for it? How many times do I need to persevere then fail? I've modified the engine to my car so many times, and each modification brings me one mile closer, yet I am still SO far away. I always have to turn back and start from the beginning; I always have to return home knowing that not only did I fail but I have nothing to show for my effort. I return home to look across the horizon at that blinking red dot.

I'm tired of driving out knowing that I have a safety net, the possibility of going home. I'm driving fast out across the desert using all the gas that I have in my tank. And, in the end, being unable to return home is just a consequence I will have to accept. If I must die trying to achieve my dream then let that be so, at least I know that my spirit will float along the horizon towards the setting sun. I'm putting it all on the line for something that I know I can achieve. Failure is no longer an option. Who knows, maybe when I reach it, it won't be glorious as I thought it would be. But I know that when I look back at all that I had done to reach this blinking dot, that I will cherish what I have for it was not done easily but with much pain and much suffering. That is how I know it will be good, because what would not be good that did not require some hurt. Who is to know what pain is when one has never felt pain? Who is to know what love is when one has never felt love? Who is to know what loss is when one has never felt loss?

This is my Gatsby struggle: my search for love and my search for a future that contains love and family.