Having occupied this body for twenty-seven years, I have grown pretty comfortable with myself. I have a pretty solid gauge on my capacities, my limitations, the qualities that make me unique, and the ways in which I am not at all unique. All my life I have bounded from one activity to the next, satisfied that I have demonstrated ‘potential’ in whatever I’ve done: scholastic, athletic, musical, and more recently, comedic potential. In fact the ‘potential’ itself has satisfied me enough that I haven’t felt the need to actually try to realize any of it -- especially considering that the honest attempt and subsequent failure to achieve it would be very humbling indeed.
There comes a moment or a series of moments when one realizes that the range of outcomes he is capable of achieving in his lifetime is steadily narrowing. This might be obvious very early on to some people; it has only recently begun to concrete with me. I am starting to understand that there is little to be gained by avoiding the disappointments of failure; the realities of your time passing will humble you regardless.
I have seen this coming for a while now. The pressure to get out from under my stagnation has been growing. Each day that begins and ends the same way, with no tangible progress in any direction, is another shovelful of dirt on a long-mounting pile of frustration.
Having never stared into an indefinite future, into a blank landscape that will be shaped by toil and struggle and persistence rather than one that’s already laid out with potential, I am a little afraid and a …. time's up
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