Passing by a bar, I had a momentary pang of jealousy watching people pick up that cold amber liquid that somehow let them put down the worries of their days.
Once I was like that, or so I thought.
But then I never put the glass down for long. Afternoons of escape would become weekends of craziness and regret.
Eventually, I found a way to put it down for good. I did not know what that would take, but today I see that it means I feel it all without relief and need to find other ways to deal the hammers and pulleys that never relax. I have to talk it all through until I can see the part of me that I am responsible for — and the part the world has that I can do nothing about.
It isn’t easy. It’s not always fun.
Yet the regrets are fewer and the possibilities bigger.
And so I hope I always find myself passing by the bar. And passing and passing and passing.
