Another Night

You Can Call Me Al by Paul Simon

Why am I soft in the middle?
The rest of my life is so hard
I need a photo-opportunity
I want a shot at redemption

Another night out on the town and another night when I remember who I get to be. My soul sings and my wrist aches.The last 20 hours have been filled with wide eyes, knowing nods, and comforting smiles. I'm not sure if I can say the word, but I can tell you right now, I love them. When I wake up, double check if it still rings true.

I invite feedback criticism. In a forum meant for relief of social anxiety, it's always good to stir the pot. A pantheon of Greek gods to a T! Noble heroes with noble goals, yet not a single infallible mortal amongst us. A pile of pretzels, pizzas, and problems that need someone to stir the dust up. Once you get past the skin depth¹, you notice the deep buried anxiety. Gun to my head? I would assume that it's buried quite a few e deep, maybe 2-3.

The best part about tonight is that when it comes out, it's not a flood. A raging river? Far from it. We are merely noticing the tide and flow. This is not something beyond our control - from the shoreline, it just seems like it. We have the personnel and the time but you can't redirect the current over night. It has beat, pushed, and swelled this way for years. What hope do you have of showing up and changing this course? Well, at least, so they think. Be it tradition, gravitas, or intertia, it shares too many letters with “excuse” and not enough with “rationale”.

Sit here a minute and observe. Have you ever seen a joyful group of idiots plunge headfirst into the deep? Laugh. Laugh away.

But as you sit there solo on the bank of sand, they're persisting. They weren't right, but goddamn they're reveling nonetheless. The calculator continues to report that two and two make four, yet they're praising five just as fervently as when their feet left the shore. Reality is not results, it's what you make it! The future is only as far as the reach of your arm. Grasp it and pull it towards you, one stroke at a time.

They poke and they prod. A strong core attempts to cover a weak spot. From a few feet back, it's clear it just illuminates it. When you hide the majority of the target, the gradient points to the bullseye. Longing - rusted - furnace - and a few more keywords I can't write, the otherwordly reaction kicks in. It might be true that the atmosphere protects us from gamma radiation, yet it only takes the smallest dose to incite my tendons viscerally. I'm writing these words with a bruised wrist and a strong ego. I think I'm proud of it, but I'll to check back tomorrow to see which one stings more.

When I get home and think of it, the pain dulls and wit… remains dull. I always hoped that one of them would sharpen opposite the other, but for at least tonight, they move hand in hand. What I lack in strength I make for in the enthusiasm of my community! When I take a series of bars and shrink them, I see fear in the eyes of leaders. When I narrow down to those closest to me, I see trust and active hubris. Emphasis on active: none of us pretends to know what the future will hold. But that's no reason to remain on the shoreline when an ever more glorious future is out there. Sink or swim, it beats sitting.