I’ve got a cold and am feeling blah, so went to my file of “scraps,” which consists of occasional thoughts scribbled down in random moments, for this week’s piece.
There’s realizing that the fantasies
won’t come to pass.
You’ll never be good enough at calligraphy
You’ll never be able to read Proust in French
You’ll never be skilled enough at drawing to make cartoons
You’ll never be able to follow a music score.
You’ll never design and make a website.
You know in a whole new way that there’s not enough life span left
for these things to become.
Who you are, what you can do now, are it.
You might become a better reader of poetry
write something you are truly proud of
help a friend
experience joy, contentment, transcendence even.
And that must be enough.