I think sometimes I am like a kid jumping up and down outside a candy store, waiting for it to open, worried that they're all sold out of peanut butter cups. I'm so impatient to get inside and see if I get what I think I want. I forget that it's a freaking candy store and 99% of everything inside is delicious (and 1% is black licorice, which is second only to mushrooms in its complete and total terribleness). And that's life, the ultimate candy store, 99% awesomeness and only 1% gross and yucky. But it's so hard to be patient as the future unfolds, knowing that the only certainty is uncertainty. It's so hard not to focus on the stupid black licorice - the minor annoyances, the disappointments, the hurts - while remaining oblivious to the rest of the magical candy wonderland that surrounds me.
I don't want to worry about things that haven't happened yet, that may never happen. But I do. There are days when I feel like I'm not any of the things I want to be. But I have to get over that. I have to keep trying. Because I don't want to die without having fully lived, without having fully experienced the weirdness and wonderfulness of being alive, without having eaten all the candy.
Probably this is bad advice, but it's all I've come up with so far. Whenever I'm afraid of something - let's just say, to pick two totally random examples, my fears are that I won't be able to run 31 miles and that I won't ever get a life partner - I think, well, would that really be the worst thing that could happen? No, actually the absolute worst thing ever would be that I am stricken with some terrible disease that makes everything I eat taste like mushrooms. Forever. Tragedy of tragedies! The key is that I have to pick something that is weird and ridiculous enough to make me laugh. Because laughter is a pretty good cure for fear.
Lyric of the moment: "I miss the taste of the sweet life. I miss the conversation. I’m searching for a song tonight. I’m changing all of the stations..."
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