I look in the mirror and I see that I'm getting older. Not for the first time, it occurs to me that I may not reach the goals I've set for myself. I may not have the career I'd planned on. I may not make the art I want to. I may not have the love or life or the smell of the sea. For the longest time, I was sure they would come. For a short while, the plan seemed to be working, the goals attainable, the love, the life and the smell of the sea very near.
I wonder how much a part The Great Recession will play in this story. The Great Depression destroyed the parents of my parents. I grew up with those stories, along with salvaged bits of both implosions, relics of fine homes lost, fortunes never recovered, dreams that slipped downstream in the floods that followed.
I don't think this time even touches that one. I'm not minimizing the lives profoundly affected by the last few years. There are many. But I recognize that it had a part in the series of events that brought me from there, where I thought I was moving along according to plan, to here, which is entirely different from what I had in mind.
Thing is, I thought I was tooling along, fully invested in the belief that if I continued to work hard and be kind, success would come. Pieces would fall into the slots I'd prepared for them with audible clicks.
Now I wonder if I can learn to live in the present without that faith? Faith is exactly what it was. I believed. I did not know.
We can never know, because we can never own anything. Everything we have exacts a cost. We pay every day. Sometimes it's a little and sometimes it's everything.
Many human beings appreciate each day as it comes, outside of calming assurances that they will eventually arrive at their destinations. Children live freely, presently, at least until they're taught otherwise. They live in the pure light of wonder before context and linear thinking take over. Their world is not ours.
I may not get what I want. Huh. Didn't expect that. What I want is a something that I created. What I want is a construct, made of context and linear thinking, fed by second-hand values and glued together with promises of shiny bits. I can let it go. Is giving it up different from giving up? Knowing the difference is right on the tip of my tongue.
These are the things I've been thinking today. I'm better, but still coughing in spells that come suddenly and violently and leave me dizzy. Relief comes from sitting in a steamy bathroom. I'm awfully tired, inside and out. I'm taking a break from desires and plans. I'm taking a break from decisions. I'm taking a break from tomorrow.
I sound like a fool, I know, but I'm way too raw to pretend I'm anything else.
I am a shorn sheep, but dammit, I showed up. Three poppets watch from under the monitor. They tell me that showing up counts. That's one I still believe.