All of these
people want us to fail
I won't let
that happen no
Just you
believe me
I'll hide
you discreetly
Discreetly
from this cold world
~ “Me and
You” by Jake Bugg
I am a
genius. My Stanford-Binet test results were last evaluated at 147 points. The
actual classification is “very gifted or highly advanced”; apparently, the word
“genius” is passé. I freely acknowledge that a score of 147 is only three
points from the next lower classification of “gifted or very advanced”. Still,
you only need a 132 to qualify for Mensa®. To be clear, I am not a member of
Mensa®; nor have I applied for membership. I much prefer knowing I am most
likely the smartest person in the room. Joining Mensa® greatly reduces the odds
of that belief being true. Moving on.
I dedicated
years of my life imagining the great contemporary novel I wanted to write.
Eventually, I even started writing it. The plot was riddled with action, drama,
and suspense. The first and last chapters were symbolic of life’s duality;
illustrating how hope can persevere in the aftermath of ultimate depravity.
Derailing my dream of completing the novel was my inability to write anything
worth reading between the first and last chapters. My ability to weave the
story matched my ability to weave a straw hat. I blamed my muse; or lack
thereof, for the convoluted story line and weak character development. I blamed
myself for not living up to my potential. After years of frustration, I
abandoned the novel to the obscure existence only a 1 terabyte hard drive can
provide.
Where do I go
from here?
I wish I
knew the answer. I wish I had the path all mapped out by a trusty GPS. I don’t.
I am reminded of the scene in “Alice in Wonderland” where Alice finds herself
face-to-face with the Cheshire Cat:
“Cat: Where are you going?
Alice: Which way should I go?
Cat: That depends on where you are going.
Alice: I don’t know.
Cat: Then it doesn’t matter which way you go.”
― Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland
I see
multiple paths from which I can traverse; but, I have become so risk averse
that I would rather sit here with a talking cat than choose. Life isn’t like a “choose
your own adventure” book. There are no guarantees that one can start over after
making a poor choice. In fact, most of life’s lessons have clearly demonstrated
that “not being able to start over” is the only guarantee.
PERSONAL
NOTE: I miss you more today than I did yesterday.
CONFIDENTIAL
NOTE: Thank you for the lucky jersey – even if you didn’t intend for it to be
so lucky.
