Would it surprise you to know that I am happy? It surprises me. And yet, I know somewhere that this happiness is a contract with a catch. I must make no comparison with the life that I was trying to build. Because the truth is, that I want it still. My bones ache when I think of what almost was. Tears live on the precipice with only my current happiness to tamp them down out of view. I forget more often now. I am distracted for longer periods of time. I don’t know if I should blame pragmatism or weariness for this but what is certain is that I am doing my best to move on. But I am also doing my best not to lie.

So I do not ask myself difficult questions with dark answers that take me back in time before I was so far down this path, so committed to the failure of the only dream I have ever given myself to. And that helps, a lot. But that doesn’t stop the stranger. I bump into my dream and my failure in the most unlikely places.  I can’t blame them. I go to the doctor, they ask about the career change. The tears rise up, but the doctor does not know about the flood or that he stands kicking at the flood gate.

I meet the friend of a friend who wants to know what my hobbies are and I falter wading through the hobbies that used to define me to find the ones that don’t hurt. I go to a church function and they pass around a hat filled with questions. The hat asks me “what is your favorite book?” But every book I have ever loved has brought me to my knees in front of my dream. Book after book flashes before my eyes and I try to find the least noxious answer or a suitable lie even though I hate lying to simplify myself. I give in and describe the writings of a pilot who pioneered so much of civilian aviation. Everyone is awed or inspired by the sense of adventure.

I am undone inside. All of the pain comes back. I ache and ache until I go to sleep. I do not dream. When I wake, my soul is sore. I can’t focus on my work. There’s no one to talk to about this though. Tears leak out whenever I think about the sky.