The Greater Adventure

  I had considered the idea of writing as a great uncharted adventure.

Akin to standing in line to ride a roller coaster at an amusement park; that shared jittery feeling of mixed anticipation and anxiety. As I learned the necessity of the skills and the processes I was indoctrinated to the gauntlet a writer must navigate.  Just as when the cars filled, the string of revelers shuffled inched closer to the platform for their turn.

My friends and I would stare eagerly at the faces of those who had just finished the ride; witnessing the effects of their venture, whispering snide remarks and joking at their expense.

Dazed and laughing they’d disembark and walk into the teeming crowd, dazed and wobbly on quaking legs; we didn't bother them, they didn't notice us, nor seem any worse for wear.

I could hardly wait to be terrified.

My God I was so naive, wearing my ignorance like a dare.

I was taken completely by subtle surprise; one moment traveling in oblivious bliss, turn a corner to catch a fist, square on my cheek; meant for me, my sins had found me out.

Except, I didn't get the starburst flashing of gossamer fireflies behind my eyes the way a physical blow delivers; I didn’t get to put up a good fight.

  I just one day noticed the chains on my ankles. Forged over the years by countless minor surrenders coupled with avoidance; taking a passive-spectators roll in my life so often, the calluses made the shackles familiar; nearly painless.

  It took nearly three decades of servitude to that black hearted whore of resignation before I screwed up the courage to change; when I became brave enough to welcome consequences for voicing objection to a practice of accepting complacency to my existence over fear of even attempting to capture my dreams. 

  I recall trying on a vigorous protest to the sublime kind of consolation offered as replacement for originality; that substitute remnant dross deposited a dusty flavor into the recesses of my soul; no amount of alcohol could wash that aftertaste away; mine was a recognition of abandoning passionate commitment as sure as any hangover will remorseless pound at the temple of an offending skull for having invested in overindulgence the night before.

  I discovered my dream had escaped me years before I noticed the empty shell dangling behind me in the shadows.  I held on to the concept so dearly, but it was just the discarded reptilian husk of a promise I uttered to myself as excuse to surrender; in the dark days and besieging nights when fearing to embrace my only chance to live larger than ‘No way.’

I’d surmise that everyone gets there; eventually. It’s really just a question of how many calamities it takes to remove the alternate escape routes until only the true path of your heart is made clear to follow.  Time is just a measure of events going in that general direction.