There’s no control. No walking into a store and buying it. Just the wishing and waiting, like there’s a room made for it, painted yellow to calm you. There’s just the hope and the lung crushing moment when they say you’re not quite good enough. Close, so close, but in the end just shy of success. Which always seems to be the case, doesn’t it? When it comes right down to the nitty gritty of it. When all your cards are on the table and your eyes are so hungry for it. No, no, not today, move along, try again, stay positive. Because that’s the secret—manifesting what you want with desire. Well fuck you Rhonda Byrne, because saying it out loud just makes it worse and no amount of Post-It Notes inked through with Sharpie manifestos are going to make it happen, so just get used to it. Get used to the status quo. Dream smaller. Shelve your ambition like canned goods for the apocalypse. Like change in a silver pig, or a rainy day.
Like all those times a gnawing voice whispered “Don’t get your hopes up.” Because in the end it was right.
Here’s to all the second choices, to the runner-ups, sloppy seconds and settlers. To the people who always let the fear win, and to those who don’t bother getting out of bed. Fist in the air, end of The Breakfast Club, I feel you.