Coffeehouse-May 2013

Ask any kid who knows how to work a crowd what they want to be when they get older, and they’ll say, “I want to be happy.”

Well, didn’t we all! Except, if you’re searching for it, you’ll never find it, it’s nameless and faceless but supposedly impossible to mistake and if you think that you are, you probably aren’t. Happy.

Forgive the cynic in me for being wary of contradictions but I think we’ve all spent a little too much time chasing after ghosts.

They teach you early on that nature has a way of balancing itself out, there’s no reason to fear tipping scales or capsized ships if you follow all the laws and obey your equal sign. I was the type of kid who liked getting it right and keeping my feet off the cracks looking left right left across the street and feeling the edges of the gold star on the paper like the stars in my eyes I saw them in yours too.

There’s nothing to be afraid of because I never once thought about God without conviction...well I have a knack for numbers at least.

When you were young all you needed was the promise of tomorrow to propel you through the shortcomings of yesterday and saying your prayers guaranteed you a decent ever after, but what they forgot to mention was the “in between” of decisions, damage and no do overs. Little girl isn’t spinning around in mother’s best perfume and jewelry anymore, now when she opens the box it’s too dirty to stay pure and when she digs around her hands get caught on the rough edges, leaving scars matching all the other sould who deserve it the least, crumbling under the weight of their own anticipation, glassy eyed from dry swallowing too many setbacks shedding dignity on bathroom floors in place of tears, or whispering “I want to be happy” in a smudged mirror, whose house is this, it’s two am, and I was always the level headed one.

I spent many an hour this year stooped before a throne and pounding on perfection’s doorstep, salvaging the memory of a childhood long gone that was the first mistake, when you’re always on your hands and knees looking in every corner for fables and idealizations your bound to fall through a crack eventually. Falling. You fall over on or down it might break a bone every time, you are the one on the floor wanting to blend into the tiles just like the lines blurred together, but now you brace yourself, instead of relying on good intentions or a feeble cry for the impeccable, the recognition of all this is half the battle.  

When no one is looking, put your hand up to your neck and feel around for the fibers of a noose woven from your own expectations, the one that’s always getting caught on all the jagged edges, the one that calls for perfection as it pulls on your windpipe. To the kids in the classroom who deserve to save themselves a few scraped knees, take it off every now and again because it’s just not worth tripping over anymore. I guess you can call it cynicism, but I still make my dandelion wishes, this time just a little differently.