And yes, I’d like to know the future. Maybe.
WARNING: I apologize for the abrupt subject changes ahead. Like much of my work, buckle up.
I’ve read dozens of time-travel books and seen all the time-travel movies. Growing up, Back to the Future was my favorite trilogy, outside of the original Star Wars trilogy. I truly believe that my obsession with time-travel began with my anxiety. Because I did want to know the future. I wanted to know what was going to happen to lessen that anxiety.
Unfortunately, that only works for the negative stuff, right? For example, you can’t choose to find out about the bad future events and not find out about good future events. In other words, I’d want to know if my grandfather was going to die, but I didn’t want to know what I’d get for my birthday.
But time-travel doesn’t work that way.
In a song by Drew Holcombe, there’s a beautiful lyric in the song The Wine We Drink.
There’s a beauty that we never know what the future holds.
Beneath the surface we are the calm, we are the storm.
The lyrics throughout helped me understand that we need to be unattached to the future. To just be. To stop worrying about making everything perfect. Have a listen, you may just be soothed.
How can a person be self-deprecating and optimistic? Is this the quality that makes me a cockeyed optimist? How can I hate and love myself at the same time?
Do I ask too many rhetorical questions?
Humility is a cruel mistress when it’s allowed to run roughshod. Always a part of my personality, I never wanted to seem conceited even when I had a reason to be. I was an above-average musician and loved to show it off, but didn’t want the ego to get too big. I like to think of it as confident humility. Not to mention that life is one big asshole if you get a little too big for your britches, and it will knock you down a few pegs if you don’t remember who’s boss. Do you understand what…