Sun in your eyes
The problem is that I’m afraid of everything. Always have been. I’m drinking scotch alone on a Tuesday night when it hits me that there’s probably no recovery from a lifetime of cowering in proverbial corners. I try to make eye contact with the bar tender for a second round, but I turn my head when he approaches, shyness prevailing. What is wrong with me? Why don’t I ever know what I want?
It’s some days later when I am sitting in my office not doing work that I realize my cowardice is probably what makes my relationship click. I am afraid of my own incompetence, my potential inability to follow through on the things that make me passionate. But his insecurities are entirely different. What I am attracted to is this: he actually has a dream, whereas I, in all of my ambiguous glory, have never been able to discern from my blur of thoughts what my dream actually is. There is a certainty in his progress that I can’t help but admire. I mean, one of us has to be moving assuredly toward something…and God knows, hiding with my head in the sand from human interaction and failure in any form, it won’t be me.