Sometimes, I get this feeling that everything is going to be okay.
It's like when you were ten. You were struggling; we all were. There was a precipice from which you were about to jump. Behind you were nights of tag and kick-the-can. The only rules were keep ahold of your candy money. Nobody told you to do or be anything, except for when your mom told you to stay on the sidewalk.
But in front of you was an abyss of huge, blank darkness. And you just wanted to turn around and run away from who you'd become in the falling, run away from what friends would fall far away from you, who you'd lose you, what you'd gain. It was really scary.
And then you walked off. Everyone saw you do it. You couldn't hide. You stepped off the cliff, shaking, and murmuring to yourself: "I am Superman, I am Superman." Or maybe something like: "I think I can, I know I can."
But you didn't fall. I know you didn't, because you're at your computer keyboard reading this blog post. You made it over the edge, and you just kept on walking. You followed an ineffable path of air, like Bird Woman, past the weeping walls and in circles around the highest mountains. You were eleven, and then twelve, and then thirteen -- because life just went on. Nobody could stop it.
And you were okay.
But then you found out that the rules are different on this side. Not everybody likes what you want to believe or who you are, who you want to be. Most of the time -- if we're being really honest -- you don't like it either. Sometimes you stay up late at night, walking around or looking out your window, remembering, trying to remember what it feels like to breathe easily. You gasp, because that's all you have left to do.
Sometimes, even if you're infinitely sad, you stand up at the top of a hill, let out a barbaric yawp, and run with your arms outstretched to the very bottom, praying to trip and tumble just before the end: the days you'd give your right leg for a skinned knee on your left.
You take risks, and your heart thunders. You remind your body how much it craves your pulse. You stay up all night, a coffee in hand, talking to someone who barely knows you, who knows you too well, who's just like you in everything but name. You tell your secrets.
But you're okay.
And sometimes it just sucks to be you. Sometimes, it's fucking awesome. Oftentimes, you don't know what it is.
But I guess, sometimes, I just get this feeling.
May your coffee be strong, your passions electric, and your laughter easy.