And the rivulets spun through tapestries of golden guilt, aligning themselves with the magnetic regrets of my life path. There’s a rage in me from everything that hasn’t worked out. A tendency toward pity and self-flagellation. A poor, little wretch who has come to believe that he deserves life’s beatings. But I’m a nice guy, so instead of directing that anger outward, I direct it at myself—a victim-martyr caught in a loop of self-punishment to save the world from myself. I want to wake up and feel love and purpose, but instead I just feel like I’m surviving—clawing my way back to feeling lost and uncertain only to fall back asleep and do it all over again. The child in me is scared. He’s crying in a dark room clutching his knees to his chest. I guess I’m waiting. Waiting for that fabled moment of clarity. Waiting for a beautiful woman to save me. Waiting for the path to reveal itself. Waiting for something outside of myself to make the choice for me. Waiting for life to happen instead of choosing it. I’m scared too. Scared I’ll make the wrong choice. Scared I’ll always be alone. Scared I’ll go the wrong way. But I’m more scared of waiting here forever and never knowing who I could’ve become. Yes, there are burdens in my life, pressures and darkness, but they are not the end—they are the forging. Without them I would never reach, I would never become something more. So I bless these days of darkness, these challenges in my life for blessing me with strength, wisdom and the opportunity for immense growth. Thank you.