I have a confession to make. I have been feeling very down lately, upset. I am a person who likes to plan (or hope—Idealize—call it what you will) ahead and work towards a goal and achieve it. I like it that way; makes me feel secure about life. But things haven’t been working out right lately. I plan, I work towards it, but seemingly there’s always this intervention from somewhere and inevitably,  then, my plan fails. Not those simple plans like making arrangements to go shopping or for a movie, but making arrangements about life, plans about my own self.
I have been questioning my own abilities and considering the possibility that, really, after all, underneath it all, I’m just a failure. From an achiever to a failure! Now that can’t be a pleasant journey. Did I just make it? Maybe I’ve just lost interest in my passions, which is a major possibility, since my wings have been clipped by the ones who taught me to fly. I don’t trust life any more, I doubt that I can make it. I am tired of struggling, tired of the social norms and society telling me what I should be doing. I want to be happy again on the six-lane road that I used to imagine myself to be on, not on this narrow gully of uncertainty. I hate the darkness here, I hate it that I can’t see beyond my own footsteps!

It’s make or break, here.

But wait. Wait! Is that a little ray of lighting my toes? A shaft of light ahead? Have to go now, need to find out what the light is.

I’m good again! I’ve got a plan…