And Then Things Change

I’ve just changed the course.  I was offered an escape hatch and I took it.  And I’m not sorry.  I am not sorry.

And there can be a lot of reasons for that.  And there are.  But they’re not important, really.  Because time will go on.  My breadcrumbs will succumb to the wind and rain and crows.  In the end, no one will remember me or what I did.  But, of course, I’ll know. And I can be proud of what I’ve accomplished.

And yet, while incredibly amazed that I’ve stayed my ground, that I’ve let go, that I’ve put myself first–I’m scared.  I wrestle every day, every single day, with the thought that I have to earn those moments.  They are not mine.  I have to work for them.  And when I do, they’re not entirely satisfying.  They’re not at all satisfying.  I worry about the outcome.  I worry I’ll be alone.

I’ve been told I’m a tester.  I test my friends.  I don’t know how to fix that.  I don’t know how not to be terrified when I have to stand where I stand and claim what is mine.  I don’t know, in the end, that it’s worth it.  And it is worth it.  But in the moment, I don’t know.  I feel very alone.  In a big, big world.

I marvel at the people that stand their ground and feel they’ve really accomplished something.  They’re proud.  They’re energized.  I don’t know how that can be.  They’ve just put everyone else in a tough situation…and who is left to talk and laugh.

I don’t know.