a woman tried to hand me a pamphlet titled 'the secret to happiness'. I politely declined and kept walking

listening to the scenic designer all evening

I am drowning in all the things I don't know yet

I do know the powerfully successful ways I get noticed

begin to rise above

but here is the tender space

where I have to contend with my fallibility

and the designer was so tender with me, when he so often is not to anyone

my colors are on point, instinctual, noticeably correct

but the application I put on, then wipe off, put on, then wipe off

The color is good, you just have to trust it, he told me.

His aged friend worked with us in the quiet of the theatre

as they rambled and told battle stories

they talked about a color that was missing

agreed

their intimate awareness of the thing-that-was-color

a thread connecting them to something

in the space between and underneath the words they were using

and I realized I had cut that out of my life for some reason

chosen to learn the languages of others

rather than speak in my own, with people who were fluent

getting off at my subway stop, at the edge of tears

I am full of so many feelings

I am amazed I can keep moving one foot in front of the other

choices I've made about the future choking me with their definitiveness

humbleness, day to day admitting where I come up shortness

potentially living constantly in a state of not being good at a new job, different job

fear of picking a direction I won't like the taste of, that I will regret putting in my mouth

anger at friends helping to dig this hole I might never climb out of

the prism I always talk about wanting to be like

this is what it feels like I realize

and maybe I can feel all of these things

knowing the foundation has been laid

and inertia set in 

when 

in a moment of clarity I made a choice about my future

maybe I can feel all of these things 

and still trust my instincts

let one foot fall in front of the other on their own

while I take the time to savor each refraction, emotion

without getting lost

thinking about the designer who we had been so angry at earlier 

for the impracticality, unnecessary grandiosity of the set

hearing them talk reminded me of Tony from the carpenter's union

retired, but kept showing up

not for the money, but because that is what he is shaped like

and I realized this lame little theatre with its blue haired audience

was a twilight stage for them to live in the shadow of what they had once been

because that is what they are shaped like

and all of my frustration shifted into love

a clue.

a thread.