Thursday, July 29, 2004

Going, Going, Gone for It

It's a baby step from wanting to "go for it" to the realization that you've just shot yourself in the foot. Sometimes though, it's the choice we have to make.

We sometimes play this game at work. It's a card game that involves taking "tricks." If you take all the right tricks, you get a lot of points, If, however, you take cards of the wrong suit (color), you end up losing points. It seems like I just can't play this game very well. If I decide to take a trick, it almost always turns out to be a mistake. And, if I decide to hold, it always seems like lady luck would have shined her light on me, if only I'd "gone for it."

So, how do you decide if and when to "go for it?" How do you decide that you've grown tired of the shore and want to plummet head-first into the surf, to Hell with the chilly water? It's a cold, hard choice we have to make, when we're faced with it and, I guess, the real "trick" is learning to live with the choices we've made. Good or bad, they are ours and ours alone.

It's kind of funny how we feel trapped and hostile when left without choices yet often their presence does little to comfort us. We'd kill for the opportunity to choose but often can't live with the decisions we make. And, all along, we know deep in our little black hearts that we can never get ahead if we're always second guessing the choices we left behind.

I like to think that some of our past choices burn into our memories so harshly that they almost become part of us. Like little t-shirts in our emotional baggage, they sit there all folded up and pretty, waiting for our emotional bellhop to carry them away into our permanent consciousness. I do know that my bellhop carries more than his fair share of crap in that emotional baggage, and I suppose some of that is related to choice, despite my best attempts at pawning things off to chance or some other unsuspecting act.

Hey you, yeah, I'm talking to you hope. It's time to pop up out of the suitcase and show your ugly face again. Take that, Mr. Bellhop. And would you get those damn bags back there? They're killing me!

Until next time...

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