26.

There are so many things I want to do, and I guess I always thought there would be time. I still think there will be time. Confirmed Catholic, I believe we only have this one life — though, in my most honest self, I hope for a second chance somewhere; to reincarnate, and not as a human, but maybe as a waterfall or something inanimate that watches the insanity unravel while I sit beautifully, stoically, silent.

My desire boils beneath the skin that cages in my everything. Sometimes I feel like I’m going to explode or implode or find the only exit in my body for a scream. I want certain love and I know that it might not come. I want success and humility. I want every paradox to make sense. I want everything and nothing and I want it now and never and yesterday and tomorrow.

I wonder if love will ever again feel like it did at 17. I wonder if I can ever navigate my way back to the hope I had then. The maps, tattered and smeared with coffee stains, seem to place me in the middle of nowhere. When did I get lost? Am I lost if everyone else is lost, too?

And maybe I will never get around to writing the book or starting the foundation or finding the tribe that carries me through the battles, but when did I think the time would come for that? Did I believe all things fall into place? I never considered the production of it all, barely gave thought to the scenes that occur behind the curtain; the crying, the laughter, the toiling of words and actions that generate the final product. And nothing has been easy, believe me, but sometimes I am wrong.

And there are so many things I want to do. So many things I want to accomplish. I have watched lives squandered, listened to the parting thoughts of souls leaving bodies, taken by cancer and old age, gasping for the last few breaths of air only to express regret or lack of love. And I guess I always thought there would be time. Time to be a doctor and a lawyer and a magician and everything at a novice level.

When is the right time to reinvent yourself? Does the snake decide when it sheds? Does its husband leave, or its dream school reject it? Does it need a revolution? Do I need a revolution? Is it now?

There are so many things I want to do. So many mouths I want to kiss. Humans I want to love. Places I want to dig my feet into, relics of past lives I want to touch.

“The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation.” Mine is screaming. I am here. I am alive. There are so many things I want to do.