As a kid I spent every summer at the swimming pool. I was an amazingly gifted swimmer at an early age.
By the age of 4 I could cut the water with all four strokes. They made me practice with kids who were twice my age.
And even I found other sports that I loved more than swimming I still spent my summers competing in the water.
I never lost a race.
But as good as I was at swimming, I was a mess on the diving boards and no matter how hard I tried I could never do a flip.
I tried all the time but I couldn’t get the rotation and I’d land flat on my back.
Eventually, I realized it just wasn’t ever going to happen. So, I stopped trying and moved on.
She was a wonderful writer and I’m sure she still is.
She can be witty. She can be dark. She can be insightful. She can cut me to the bone.
One day, a surprise was waiting on the page. I hated reading it. I hated how it made me feel.
I’d trusted so much in someone who, at the end of the day, it seemed did not feel at all.
It had all the trappings of something beautiful and glorious but it was just pretty paper held together with elegant ribbons curled into graceful bows wrapped around an empty box.
She kept writing, as she always had but her words rang hollow.
And so, I stopped reading.
I’ll never stop loving. I’ll never stop caring.
But at some point, you just have to stop attempting to do what is beyond your ability.
Somethings are just never going to happen.
Sent from my iPhone