Precipice

There comes a time when the only thing left to do is leap off the edge.

I gathered together everything I had written yesterday, everything I could find. I was seeking validation, I suppose, but also some hidden pattern, hoping to discern an interest of mine farther-reaching than what was immediately available to me through reflection. I didn't find anything new. I found ten papers about zombies that had little or nothing to do with zombies. I edged the zombies out early in the first paragraph so I could go on to write strange things about God. The correlations were tenuous at best but that didn't seem to matter; it was a writing class and the only thing the teacher cared about was whether or not we had words on a page. I had a lot of words.

I used to have a lot of words. I had words for everything, any time, any place, I had words. I wrote often, blogging even, allowing other eyes to see these words. The blogging was nonsense and I didn't really care; I've made a career out of getting praise for nonsense. For so little work.

It's a risky business, putting your heart on a page, even if you merely skirt around a deeper issue, cloak your life with cute phrases and fancy wordwork. It doesn't really matter, I suppose. People will read into you as they please, and there's little you can do about that, other than hide behind the thickness of the internet or say nothing at all. When I want to hide, I prefer to say nothing. When I don't want to fail, I prefer to not even try. At least then I can I claim to have chosen my failure.

But then there are times when failure isn't really an option, when you have to make that leap and hope that you'll fly even though the odds are good that you'll fall straight to the ground. It isn't the falling that makes one a failure, it's backing away slowly, it's refusing to participate. I can't refuse, I've barricaded myself with a collection of bullies and academic pushers who are staring at me, expectantly, wondering only why I'm not moving faster than I am. Why I haven't leapt yet. I tell them I'm frightened I'm not good enough, or that I'm not sure I'll enjoy the work, or that I like to take too many naps. None of these are true, but I try to convince myself of their truth in order to have an excuse to back away. In reality, I'm worried I'll be boxed in. I'm worried that once I take that leap, I'll never be able to get back again. I fear that my hesitancy is a sign of something deeper, that perhaps I should be looking elsewhere to get what I need. And to give back the best that I can.

Ultimately, I just want to be useful.