i can feel the static in my brain, the frequency that rakes through any coherent thought and leaves a fragmented jumble of words behind. through the fog i can catch the glimpse of a face, or a memory, or the math equation that i’m supposed to be remembering. i can hear the hum of the radiator, and the buzz of the light above, and the mourning electric guitar from the song that’s been clinging to the walls in my head. it’s my birthday, and a major one at that. a major age. a milestone. an age where i can’t really pretend to be a kid anymore.
birthdays are supposed to be happy, celebrating your coming to this earth, and celebrating who you are as a person. but who am i, really? what have i accomplished? i can remember in just the past year how i truly believed i wouldn’t make it to this day, how the sand i had been treading in finally felt like it was dragging me down — that is, until a firm hand clamped on my forearm. and then, another on my wrist. i hate being grabbed by my wrist. but it felt comforting this time. someone, something pulled me to my feet and planted me on the ground again.
i saw the soft eyes of a little girl, who looked at me in confusion. i tilted my head, and so did she. we pressed our palms together and i folded my arms around her, in a completely enveloping hug. we sat down right there in the sand, and we talked for what must have been hours — about her life, about mine, about all the time in between. she was so concerned about her problems, but i assured her that these problems would certainly go away before she knew it. and then she listened to mine, to me pouring my heart out about every little thing that a little girl, a little lamb, shouldn’t be forced to learn about. still, she listened, and i commanded her, and yet the love she held in her gaze never stopped.
you’re amazing. that was all she said, and that was all that stopped me completely in my tracks. that static dissolved for a moment, and i reached out and cupped the cheek of a memory. this was all she ever wanted. she got all she ever wanted. and that was precisely what was horrible about it. if this is the beautiful future she dreamed of, why was it still not enough? and why was it fundamentally wrong?
the answer lies in not the destination, but the journey. this isn’t a single-stop move. this is a road trip, filled with nights laying away in a cramped sedan backseat after landing in a small road-side town that sleeps at 8 pm. it’s filled with flat tires and exhausting marathon drives and hills that make you wonder if the car really can get over. but it also includes stops like breathtaking views of mountains and people you meet at crappy gas stations and night skies of endless stars. and when you get to wherever it is you think you’re going, you lay there a moment, and then you continue on on the next trip. that’s all there is to it.
and it need not be terrifying. if not for the thrill of the unknown, what would we have to live for? if the journey shapes who you are, within it, are you anybody? then, if you took the journey, mustn’t it be true that you are truly somebody, someone unique who is a byproduct of the people you meet and the sights you see?
that little girl wanted so much. she thought that she would be happy once she got here, and that would be all. of course, she had no idea how many new problems would arise standing here, toes planted in the sand. yet, she made this journey, didn’t she? she fulfilled her aspirations, and she became a stronger adventurer. if she made this journey, she can make any.
i take a look, and see that she moves closer to the quicksand, as i step away towards unknown ground. she must fall as i did. she must.
as i turn my back to her, i am fully aware of every particle of sand on my body, and how it sinks into every part of me unrelentingly. i cannot exist without it, and it without me. my next step falls a little deeper into the ground. as the shadow of a figure crawls over me, the static begins once more.








