Sometimes

Sometimes I think I am broken. And then I think why do I think that? I think who could I have been? I think that in some way or the other I’m somehow the worst thing that could have occurred from being conceived. I think that in some parallel dimension there is the best version of myself thinking that in some parallel dimension I exist. And I do. I see the choices I made and didn’t make, the roads I didn’t walk down and the people I didn’t talk to. I picture hundreds of thousands of millions alternate possibilities extending at infinity and I see the domino effect from one insignificant choice made to the next. I think of the sometimes futility of thinking and giggle to myself I think of not thinking. I wonder what it would be like to not have preconceived notions and a lifetime of experiences shaping my thoughts and actions and reactions. I remember the phrase ignorance is bliss, and the looks of pity to the ignorant from the people who say things like that. All of these things run through my head like little model trains loaded with paradoxes wrapped in contradictions. I spend my time putting pennies on the tracks. But, eventually, I remember that when I’m feeling like the worst person on earth, out of the billions of people in the world at least a hundred people did as I have done, or would have done. And in that anonymous throng of humanity I find peace that I’m not so fucked up that I can claim to be alone on this rock. Then I smile. I feel the warmth of the sun on my face again and I know I’m going to be ok.

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