How, in the name of God, did I get here? Sitting at my desk, the door shut, the tears streaming down my face. My hatred for my job, my life, the world in general building and welling up out of me in frustrated streams. My stomach sick, my head throbbing and every inch of me feeling alien. Is this what I created? Is this pathetic recurrence of a pathetic moment the result of my own doing?
How did I get here? I am 30 years old, that fine age when the vitality of youth is tempered with just enough life experience to allow one to move with energy and passion in a chosen direction, a time when life has substance, meaning, purpose. I am surrounded by this recognition in my peers: all around me they have graduated from the hapless, delightful ignorance of their twenties to families, careers, vocations. To life. I feel that, despite my pleas to the world to hold the train, it boarded gleefully, leaving me at some abandoned depot as a left-behind, an almost, a passenger perpetually waiting.
I tried to make the train. I had my schedule, my itinerary, I packed for warm weather and cold. I had back-up maps and contact information and everything I needed for the trip. I thought, “I am ready, world. Take me.” And now here I sit prepared for an adventure that I’m not on. The years I spent getting ready – the schooling, the jobs, the love – seem heavy now, more load than I anticipated, crowding me here on the platform. They look ridiculous, superfluous trappings whose purpose no longer seems valid.
I was close – so close; I could feel the wind from the passing dreams, the hopes and aspirations barreling along the track. All I had to do was reach out and flag them down, harness them, make them mine!
I had gotten comfortable waiting, though. I felt sure there would be another train. I questioned the safety – wasn’t it moving just a bit too fast? Is it an express? Will I have a chance to change trains if I get on the wrong line? Is there an emergency brake, a conductor, anyone in control besides me? I don’t have the experience to drive a train! I’m not ready!
And so it passed. And so it passed.
And I am the lonely passenger, a fare paid but no destination. A coward left alone in a once-bustling station. I am humiliated at standing here alone, at missing the train, at my excessive luggage, at my worthless itinerary, at my inability to find the next scheduled train. I am tired, here. I am sore from the hard bench. My heart aches from the strangeness of my surroundings. My head spins at the confusion of my life, at the frustration, the bitterness, the fear eating at my soul.
How did I get here? And why can’t I leave?
Copyright (c) 2008
