Monday, September 12, 2016


The sinking comes on strong, out of nowhere. You were OK a minute ago, smiling even. Just another day until it hit you. The triggers are everywhere -- a chipotle salsa, fat moon, giggle across the room -- and then it happens. You fizzle in a very unspectacular dud of a downer. Then you can barely drag yourself into the next second, much less the next minute or month or anything like a favorable future. The sting comes from having run when should have taken a stand, gone down the hard road, said yes. It's a disgrace, a wound, a great big target that says fuck up. While you can't see them, most everybody else is carrying these things around too. They are the regrets, the maybes, the might-have-beens. In this compromise of a half-baked life, they stink. At least mine do. It's a hard thing to do, but comes a time when you have to stop, turn around, take a hard look, take the blame, and get down to the hard work of hack-sawing, chiseling, filing, or even chewing on the steel chains with your teeth. If you have to, cut your leg to free yourself from the trap. It's that or stay stuck in the coulda-shoulda blues. You may have missed one chance, but the only way you will have another is to face the thing you most fear, the thing you most desire. It will feel like you stuck your finger in a light socket: the wind, sun, and dust so bright suddenly you will stagger back on your heels. Don't fall you say to no one but some hopeful part of yourself. Dig in. Lean into it.Don't let the next chance get away.

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