What if the wanting is the point?
The hum was never about the thing, the thing was just somewhere to point it.
I used to think I wanted the thing. The money. The person. The answer waiting behind some door I hadn't opened yet.
I'd get close. Feel that hum in my chest. I called it desire.
Then sometimes I'd get the thing. And the hum would stop.
Not satisfaction. Just silence, where the music had been.
It took me years to understand the hum was never about the thing. The hum was the reaching. The thing was just somewhere to point it.
You can spend a whole life this way. Mistaking the engine for the destination. Climbing because climbing feels like being alive, then standing on the summit confused about why you came.
The strange part is that seeing this doesn't kill the wanting. It just lets you hold it without being held by it.
You can want something and know you want the wanting. Both true at once.
And somehow, the thing itself becomes possible to actually have.