I want to be there already. I want to sit at the pinnacle with completed manuscript in hand. I want to skip the courtship, exchange rings, and be bound forever.
Have patience, you say. Good things take time.
I want to know how it ends. I want confirmation. I get one taste of true beauty or a preview of what is right and, instead of letting go, I squeeze it until it breaks in my palm.
I am unable to accurately judge distances, whether real or metaphorical. As a teenager learning to lead hiking trips, I would grossly miscalculate how long it would take to walk to that far-off pass.
Once I see the way forward, I imagine I’ve already reached the end. I’ve done it. Solved the puzzle. Figured everything out.
This can be devastating in personal relationships. Just because I might know, or intuit, how someone feels about me in a given moment doesn’t mean that person knows or is ready to acknowledge such a feeling themselves.
My confidence comes off as egotism. Or worse, being out of touch. Head in the clouds that hug distant peaks and unaware of the ground beneath me.
If I’m always looking to the horizon, what do I miss that’s right here?
An outline is not a book. An infatuation is not a relationship. A vision is but an idea that can’t be shared until it’s made.
It gets lonely up in the clouds.
You’ve skipped some logical steps, he said years ago, in response to my first exam.
Show your work, he said.
But if I got there, if I was right, why do you need to see my path?
Being right often means being alone. After her divorce, a dear friend turned to me and said, well, now is when you can say that you told me so. That you were right.
I don’t want to be right. I don’t want to stick my neck out. I just want you to be happy and to be there with you along the way.
I suppose it’s embarrassing to state a dream aloud. To declare that you want something and go after it for all the world to see.
If I set a goal and share it publicly, you’ll all know whether I succeeded or not. Being bad at assessing distances means the goalpost always moves. A five-hour hike becomes seven, becomes ten. A book deadline extends by months and then years.
What’s worse than public failure?
How about withering away in private. Staying shy and scared and hidden until all that’s left is a reflective shell.
I want to be on the distant peak, and maybe I’ll never get there. Maybe it’s a fool’s errand to try.
A life without dreams sounds like a list of chores. One foot after the other in the checkout line.
I want to be on the distant peak because I remember what it was like when this felt distant, too. When where I am now was just a dream. I made it here. I succeeded. And I can do so again.
I may be impatient and selfish and delusional. I may skip steps and think that I’m already done. But hey, that’s how it goes. That’s what gets me out of bed. The idea that I am working on something that matters, could matter, could make someone feel just a little bit more alive. Even if that someone is simply me.
I love you. Take care.
Here's to the goals we foolishly fall short on and boldly declare anyways. <3
🧡