I will call this one the flyover of impossibilities. As I walked out to my little blue car, a helicopter passed over, its helices thrumming the air. I’m not morbid but I am unusually aware that such things fall from the sky. It’s been 30 years since the plane crash. But there’s hardly a day that passes that I don’t hear someone comment something along the lines of, “But how likely is that?” I’m sure a strange look across as my face sometimes when this happens. On a long enough timeline, everything is possible. I’ve actually become proud of that horrible day in the early ’90s. I received an unwelcome message, one that I learned over and over in childhood… periodically I get pissed off at myself because the lesson slips my mind. And it fascinates me that people think I’m a certain way capriciously. It’s such a part of my inherent nature that I forget that they couldn’t understand. I might live to be 90. But I’ve come to embrace something in me that is probably a defect. As people fret and futurize, there are times when the futility of doing so seems so damn obvious to me. It causes self-reflection and makes me wonder if all of that is true, why do I catch myself overthinking and concerned about the what-ifs?
Love, X
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