I could stride through life if only I could sense such a rich network of possibilities every morning. My myopia might be my own worst enemy, because there’s no practical reason that I shouldn’t and couldn’t continuously renew my sense of possibility, except that I seem to have unlearned how to do it. Perhaps I outgrew this once familiar sense.

How curious that I’d fenced myself into a blinding alley, one sure to limit my own potential. Equally curious how blocking off the status quo can open so much alluring space. Whether any of the possibilities instantiate is my business, and might not matter a lick. What matters might only be this sense, this possible delusion, that fuels such hopefulness. Such hoped-for fulness.

©2012 by David A. Schmaltz - all rights reserved

Tags: Homeless