~another turtle and hare tale but for me~

Dear You, I am writing to you now to admit something I wish was not true. I am, in fact, frightened. I am afraid that I have painted confidence over my sentences when speaking about my future. “Everything is going to be alright.” “I will have plenty of money.” “I will never work a day in my adult life because my career will be one I love.” Are they all lies? I always preach about how we all have our own timelines, and just because Susan over there has a job that is in her niche and will help her progress in her career does not mean my dead end job will not benefit me in the long run. It is just so hard to believe that when time seems to fly, and another year has passed with no real progress. There is a masked man named Cibil who haunts my nightmares when I am awake. When I stare into his eyes, I am wandering aimlessly in a field of darkness with no path ahead of me. I cannot see my watch, but I know it should be sunrise. Yet, the sun is nowhere to be found. There is no tunnel of which a light could be at the end. There is no guidance. Just trees, plants, and creatures that have yet to be discovered. Cibil is next to me when I run down the spiral staircase letting self-doubt and fear be the artists of my mind. He comforts me with his knife tracing every vertebrae in my spine. He holds a candle to my present and we see a girl carrying other’s weight and wearing an empty smile. Cibil reminds me that maybe if I had tried just a little harder, I could be sitting at a desk typing numbers all day long for the men wearing wigs so tall I cannot see the bird’s nest at the top. “Yes,” I say to Cibil. “Maybe I could have put my misery behind a computer, but I do not want to drown in a world where I am there in obligation.” Cibil grins, “So, you would rather run out of gas each and every day to exert yourself in a cold building with no elevator? When you run up, you are met with the ceiling. If you are not doing what you hope to, would you not rather have planted a tree that sheds dollars instead of wasting away for minimum wage?” He has a point. If only I could hate a job that gives me a quarter of a palace rather than a corner of a dumpster. Cibil begins to smile. His victory gives me goosebumps. I feel his knife breaking my skin. As the blood of my spirit drips down the back of my leg, I step forward. His smile begins to tremble in fear for this was unexpected. I take another step. Cibil begs for me to remember my place and where I am at. I say, “I do not like where I am at, Cibil. You have scared me so long that I have stood. Look! The floor has imprints from my feet filled with my tears. If I am not to stay here, then where should I go but forward! Take off your mask and drop your dagger. We need not be afraid of our lack of cash. Others may be hares, but we are turtles. One day we will cross over the line into success, but not today. Until we do, we must move our feet one in front of the other even if we only have enough strength for one step a day. I invite you to join me, Cibil. However, you must cease your harmful thoughts or else we will cry in our own ditches.” Cibil pauses a moment realizing that this constitutes a loss. Yet, he does not feel defeated. Perhaps this does not have to be hiss loss, but fear’s. He takes off his cloth armor, and releases his weapon. He looks down where he thought chains wrapped his ankles. The metal is erased and gone, and Cibil takes a step. Liberation from his own prison dresses him in faith. Now, we walk in faith on the path into the woods of fear confident that someday we will see that finish line. That, my friends, will be the beginning of a victory we did not know was truly meant for us. So yes, Susan is a hare and got to where she wanted faster than I. However, her timeline is not mine. I do not want her short story; I want my novel. I want my experience. I want my struggles. I want my despair. I want it all, and it all will lead to where I am supposed to be. From, Me

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