Bookmark #896

Not too long ago, almost about a couple of days or nights, it occurred to me that it had been but three weeks. It has been three weeks since I moved to this new apartment and made it into an olive-green and beige dream. And it has been three weeks since I pushed open so many doors, I could not keep track of what may or may not happen. It has been three weeks of coming home late from nowhere and everywhere and writing even later.

And now, like an arrow in the dark, like the car I often come home in, gliding over empty streets, my life shoots ahead and away from me to somewhere I do not yet understand; only my form seems clear, and my drive seems true, and it is hellbent on finding its mark. My life has sliced through these weeks with immeasurable precision. It has cut through time without trading its speed. Once it hits, of course, I will know it all, and I will be bold and proud, and quite like an astute and celebrated scientist after some great experiment’s conclusion, I will have answers. But until then, it all seems perfect, and it all seems in place. When the gift of hindsight arrives at my door like the many parcels which arrive when you begin setting up a home, I will read the manifest and have a lot to say about the form, and there will be cross words about the errors and there will be umpteen ways I could have done this better. But as I often say, for most of our lives, it is not the wisdom but the errors that matter the most.

To be a person is to perpetually make decisions without much to go off of, without any credible insight in your hands. When people, especially those who talk about business (of which there are many), talk about the calculations, the decisions, and all things reserved for people who are, I reckon, much smarter than me, they do so confidently and for the plebeian in me, this is confusing and throws me out for a spell. For I believe we can never know things and that to be certain about anything but yourself is a crime committed only by the proud and the vain.

Everything is a coin toss; no matter what we know, each toss will be fresh; the coin will land either way, and we will be none the wiser. This is how it has always been.

// if you want to support this walk to nowhere, you can pitch in here