Etc.

Open Eyes (a beginning to a book I never used)

The dictionary defines regret as a loss or missed opportunity. I’ve always hated that word. It’s always made me feel so out of control, so powerless, so irrelevant to my own life. I once promised myself that I wasn’t going to live with any regrets. I didn’t have room in my life for them. I was going to live spontaneously. Live in the moment, as they say. I learned quickly that my young and naive point of view was unrealistic when it came to some things. For example, love. You can’t make it happen. It’s something that takes time and patience and loyalty and devotion. I was acquainted with none of these things. I wanted it right then and there. In other words, I wanted the result without the work. As does everyone, at some point. I wanted something that was superficial, though I couldn’t exactly see it. But as we grow up, some of us find others to look to for advice. Some of us find that one person who makes everything crystal clear, who opens our eyes. And that moment when we see everything for the first time since our lives began is one of the most important moments in our lives. I remember the first and only person who showed me, who opened my eyes. And it only took twenty-two years to do it.

     There was never a beginning. There wasn’t one defining moment when we began. It felt infinite. The first thing I remember is that we were laying in a bed of grass, staring at the sky and making shapes in the clouds. I was six and he was seven and a half. Those were the good days when six months still made us feel older. 

     “Can you see it?” he asked me in an almost whispered voice.

     “See what?”

     “The dog.”

     “What dog? All I see is a bunny.”

     “A bunny? You’re so weird.”

     And then he grabbed my hand. I don’t know why he did but I liked it. I felt safe and wanted and loved.