No matter how smart or capable you may wish you could see yourself as being, there are still those moments in the still of night when all is silent that your thoughts become muddled amidst the doubt and regret over the past. The only comfort one can have in those nights, I'm thinking - I'm hoping - is that it is that way for most everyone.
We've been given these incredible gifts as humans of thought, and compassion, and conscience, and personal choice, that it could almost be a hindrance to the "normal" everyday life. Whatever that means. The curse of being someone of intelligence is the curse of never being able to shut it off. It goes, and goes, and goes.
Where is the end? Where is the moment of clarity? Does it ever happen?
People of faith say that all our questions will be answered upon our deaths. Talk about a defeatist attitude. And I'm sorry if I choose not to buy into the notion that I'm supposed to cloak myself in a shroud of doubt and worry, on the mere chance that faith will somehow save me in the end. Where's my relief now?
Is it selfish? Possibly. Maybe. A little shortsighted to think that this "life" is all there is to the existence of man. But couldn't it be naive to think that upon death is when life really occurs? How are people that live tough lives supposed to justify to themselves in good faith that somehow, this will all turn around, when they're no longer here to remember or do anything about it?
Maybe that's it. The "toughness" of some cannot compare to the struggles of many.
But the paralysis of thought is damning. The paralysis of looking back is debilitating. The paralysis of self-disappointment is crushing.
And all we can have is faith - in ourselves - that the light will come on.
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