Before Coffee: Dare. Risk. Dream.

September 7, 2016 § 1 Comment

Random thoughts that have been ricocheting of the insides of my skull, ringing it like a polyphonic bell. This morning, staring at an empty beer bottle from last night and grinning like an idiot at the memories contained therein, the various tones merged into a chorus.

Around the neck of the bottle, it said, “Dare. Risk. Dream.”

I’ve been a little worried about how people perceive me lately. It’s a constant susurration, but lately the volume has increased. Partly, it’s because I’ve put some personal shit out into the world, on this blog and elsewhere. It’s also due in part to my dad’s illness—liver cancer—which has me traveling down dark corridors I’d avoided for the past ten years.

It’s not often I share what’s hidden in the cobwebbed nooks and bottomless chasms. The thoughts and memories I bury in those places are there precisely because they scare me, and I’m afraid they’ll frighten off those close to me. At the very least, I don’t want to worry anyone.

Keeping them locked up wasn’t working. Not this time. For a few weeks, I was in a state of constant panic. I figured sharing couldn’t possible make things worse, so I decided to vent here, on this supposed writing blog, because it’s my only long-form outlet anymore. I can let my fingers dribble thoughts longer than 140-character tweets or whatever the limit is for the Book of Faces.

I dared to share. I risked what people would think. At the very least, I hoped it would help someone who had similar thoughts, feelings, fears.

So far, no one’s run screaming, at least not that I know. And I’ve been reminded of how truly loving and supportive my friends are.

My life right now is very much yin-yang. The dark side is my dad’s cancer, and the looming shadow the C-word always brings with it. But there’s a very bright side, too, driving back the gloom. It took a little daring and risk—and more than a little dreaming—to get to the light. It’s a fragile puzzle made up of fragile pieces. But it’s beautiful, and it shields my soul.

I worry the light won’t last long. I worry it will go out and leave me in the dark with the monsters. Nothing gold can stay, as Robert Frost wrote.

It’s a risk to stay in this dream of light, but I dare to do so for as long as it lasts. I’ll deal with the monsters as they come.

They better come swinging, because this is ground I’ll fight for.

The bottle in question. The beer inside was good; the company was better. (And ha, I just noticed it’s called the Right Hand of Doom. That’s not ominous or anything.)





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