A left on Phillips Ave.
A strong hand in mine.
A sun rays soft kiss through a canopy of green.
The fullness of a truly beautiful life.
Even through the perfection of this moment, I still feel the sting of guilt rise in my chest.
How can I have this and still want that? How can I have so much and still want more?
My feet meet the pavement but never the cracks and I wish for something different.
Not different people or a different hand in mine. I am so sure of both.
Not a different past or a different calling. I’m so secure in both.
Not even a different life. I am so unfairly happy.
I wish just for different possibilities.
I’m so sure there are more of those.
A left on Edwards Avenue.
A warm arm around my shoulder.
The familiar joy of familiarity.
I’m almost ashamed of how fast I would forsake the familiar for just a taste of the possible.
Oh how quickly I would trade these four walls to stomp the dust in every corner of the earth.
How quickly I would give up these townhouses, built close enough to see way too much, for the wide open desert of Australia. How quickly I would forsake the parties, payments, and proverbial plans to get lost on a peak of any mountaintop this globe has to offer.
How embarrassingly quick I would leave the present to dream about the possibilities.
The possibility of adventure.
The possibility of solitude.
The possibility of wandering and exploring.
The possibility of getting lost and being found .
Is adventure out there?
I sure hope so.
But for now…
it’s right here.
On Phillips Ave.
In an old borrowed house.
Full of beautiful people.
Home to some kind of adventure.