Early in the morning, well on the way into the last twenty-four hours of the year, inevitable sleep awaits before the working day begins, but not just yet. What’s keeping me awake are the thoughts, leftover from days gone by, the retrospect accomplishments and defeats of the year in review.

It’s been the first year really cut from the bounds of study, let loose and tossed out on the turbulent currents of the social cascade with conflicting and fluctuating views on who I’m supposed to be and what I really want to do and all that kind of stuff, mixed around with the complications of love and relationships and about a million other things seething through my mind.

Out of home once, then back at home, then out once more. Graduation with a bachelor degree in one field, then into a job of a completely different nature. Pressure to study more, move into the mainstream. Trying to keep afloat, head above the rising waters, to keep whatever distant hope in view. Writing and directing a play for the old uni, recording a song with a small vocal group, completing the first draft of my novel, and hundreds of other little projects and experiments. Inconsequence, temporary reflections on the surface. Reflections of what?

Looking back, you realise this time stream only flows in one direction. Paddle hard as you like, there’s no escaping the steady current, the forks in the river, the realities of choices past.

Where is our ocean sunset? Not long until next year.

The Brook
Show your support

Clapping shows how much you appreciated Joshua Byrd’s story.