Monday, 5 August 2013

down the side of the couch

I have the most spectacular life. Really. I love it. A charmed life.

But sometimes I feel as though I have fallen down the side of the big red couch of life and I'm just in that gap between the cushions and no one knows I'm there. I'm like the $2 coin that someone vaguely feels they had but maybe used for a take-away latte and so write off. They'd be overjoyed to discover me if ever their hand happened to explore down the side of the couch. Bonus. But to be honest, even I rarely put my hand down the side of the couch. I'm waiting to be discovered. Valued. But I am my harshest critic.

I am all for being in the moment and I am a huge advocate for appreciating the now and embracing our current experience. But sometimes I feel suffocated by the mediocrity of the present and I just want to know how this works out. What happens next? As though the knowing would afford me some sort of control or calm. Would it? If you read the last page in a novel and you know how it's going to end, do you give up on the narrative or do you follow it through anyway? And do you follow it  through anyway, hoping that it will turn out differently, despite the fact that you read it, black and white. The book has been published. The ending is set in stone. We know how this is going to go, but we want to see it through anyway.

And really.


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