Inching Away from the Edge

Some days—and today is one of them—I wish I could start over. From the beginning. Well, from the time I was in high school. My decisions, my choices, my interests; they would be so very different. I would listen more and talk less. I would listen not only to other people, but to that voice I so often ignored, that voice that told me I could overcome whatever obstacles I faced. That voice that said: “You can make a difference in this world. You can have an impact well beyond your ability to comprehend it today. Just follow your dreams.”

That voice was problematic in that I didn’t know what my dreams were. I was confused more then than today; and I remain pretty bloody confused today. I don’t know what I want now. How could I have known what I wanted then? Well, if I’d allowed myself to mature in high school, I think I would have known. But I didn’t give myself that luxury. I was pursuing something, something important. I just didn’t know what or why.

This story isn’t worth telling. It’s weighted down by an anchor that can’t be unchained from the center of the earth. Tonight is, for reasons beyond my ability to comprehend, an unhappy opportunity to regress and regret. I really don’t know why tonight’s air feels like wet cement and my eyes feel like they’ve been assaulted with salt and alcohol. I don’t know if it’s depression or anger that I’ve missed opportunities that were almost impossible to overlook. Or, maybe, the occasional periods of pride in myself and what I’ve done and can do have become obvious delusions.

Whoever reads this, please don’t comment. Your comments won’t change things, they won’t help. I just needed to get these thoughts off my chest.

Tonight, I would pay for a hug. But I have nothing of value to exchange for it. Tomorrow will be different. It always is. Every day. Tomorrow I will wonder what the hell was wrong with me last night? And I won’t have an answer; just a perennial question that goes unanswered.


About John Swinburn

"Love not what you are but what you may become."― Miguel de Cervantes
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One Response to Inching Away from the Edge

  1. Joyce says:

    Sending a hug. No payment due

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