All of these people want us to fail
I won't let that happen no
Just you believe me
I'll hide you discreetly
Discreetly from this cold world
~ “Me and You” by Jake Bugg
I am a genius. My Stanford-Binet test results were last evaluated at 147 points. The actual classification is “very gifted or highly advanced”; apparently, the word “genius” is passé. I freely acknowledge that a score of 147 is only three points from the next lower classification of “gifted or very advanced”. Still, you only need a 132 to qualify for Mensa®. To be clear, I am not a member of Mensa®; nor have I applied for membership. I much prefer knowing I am most likely the smartest person in the room. Joining Mensa® greatly reduces the odds of that belief being true. Moving on.
I dedicated years of my life imagining the great contemporary novel I wanted to write. Eventually, I even started writing it. The plot was riddled with action, drama, and suspense. The first and last chapters were symbolic of life’s duality; illustrating how hope can persevere in the aftermath of ultimate depravity. Derailing my dream of completing the novel was my inability to write anything worth reading between the first and last chapters. My ability to weave the story matched my ability to weave a straw hat. I blamed my muse; or lack thereof, for the convoluted story line and weak character development. I blamed myself for not living up to my potential. After years of frustration, I abandoned the novel to the obscure existence only a 1 terabyte hard drive can provide.
Where do I go from here?
I wish I knew the answer. I wish I had the path all mapped out by a trusty GPS. I don’t. I am reminded of the scene in “Alice in Wonderland” where Alice finds herself face-to-face with the Cheshire Cat:
“Cat: Where are you going?
Alice: Which way should I go?
Cat: That depends on where you are going.
Alice: I don’t know.
Cat: Then it doesn’t matter which way you go.”
― Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland
I see multiple paths from which I can traverse; but, I have become so risk averse that I would rather sit here with a talking cat than choose. Life isn’t like a “choose your own adventure” book. There are no guarantees that one can start over after making a poor choice. In fact, most of life’s lessons have clearly demonstrated that “not being able to start over” is the only guarantee.
PERSONAL NOTE: I miss you more today than I did yesterday.
CONFIDENTIAL NOTE: Thank you for the lucky jersey – even if you didn’t intend for it to be so lucky.