I wrote this little piece after getting in touch with an old friend from Atlanta. I had not seen or talked to him in nearly 30 years. I'm not sure why, but a line from T.S. Eliot's The Waste Land kept running through my head after Bobby and I talked.
'We shall not cease from exploration, and the end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started and know the place for the first time."
The exploration of self, life, and one's rightful place in it, is arduous and slow for some of us. It was for me.
My old friend and I were both troubled young adults. I'm happy to report, however, that we both ended up in a good place, happy, well adjusted and fulfilled.
I wish I had not wasted so much time unfulfilled, trying to be what I was not. And how many others, I wonder, do the same?
Why must we be our own harshest critics?