On a gray afternoon in July, I am sitting here in my big chair. It is raining. Times like this always make me think. I think backwards and forwards, what has been and what failed to be at all. How I've grown and habits that hold me and might not ever let go. My life has come down to a list of maybes. Maybe if I wasn't genetically predisposed, maybe if I never felt the need to compare myself to other people, maybe if their marriage worked out, maybe if I wasn't fit to bouts of self loathing and pessimism. Maybe if I never became infatuated with the idea of "perfect" and maybe if I never felt the desire to chase it. Maybe. Maybe I would have been alright all along.
I've had a short life. Really, no one has any reason to listen to a kid like me. But what my life has had more than a lot of people my age is this: there have been more questions than answers. Looking all around as I was growing up, other kids knew what was and what wasn't. They knew the way the world worked and their place in it because their parents said so and that was that. For me it wasn't the same way.
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Improv-ness for a book I want to write. Confidence is lacking.
