Success Closes as Many Doors as Failure
I don’t think I could handle winning.
Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy my mini successes. And I’m not exactly crying in a gutter somewhere. But most of that is due to making safe, bullshit efforts.
I could say it’s a middle child thing. Always the peacemaker, busy worrying about the rest of the family, struggling to maintain the family balance and never taking a goddamn moment to myself.
The truth is winning is kind of scary. Because if I kick ass at something, I’m un-choosing everything else. EVERYTHING ELSE. So it’s not 1 YAHOO. It’s a billion anti YAHOO’s.
It’s a billion little fuck you’s to every other possible future of my life. And what if this big embrace, this marriage to this one possible life, falls apart? What if it’s not the best path and then I dedicate 8 hours a day (minimum), 5 days a week for countless years to a whim?
It sounds …rough. Devastating. Demoralizing. Disastrous. Distressing. Catastrophic.
And ridiculous to complain about. What kind of righteous bitch whines about having a billion possible futures out there?