Things that are due, or self-reliance

Chris does not blame any trivial issues on overconfidence. If someone transposes a number, he supposes that they were rushing, or doubting themselves, or trying to leave the building before the clock hit 9:30. Never that they were too sure to recheck their numbers.

Truth is, that night, it wasn't a bolstered ego. It was sweaty palms, a nervous stomach ache that started low and worked its way up, like a knot of air through a plastic straw. It gets small in that office, like a blanket, where no one can see your thoughts or feelings. A place where you can count coupons to the beat of your pulse. Yellow walls, the press of your finger prints against the safe lock, or the sound of dollar bills rubbing against one another as you count: 1, 2, 3, 4.

Truth is, everywhere you go, there will be people that hold you back, don't understand you, or whatever it may be. Fighting off those feelings of insignificance, or misconception is a life-long battle that ends in self-reliance.

I'm searching for a better way nestled between two Great Lakes, like the gap between my thumb and pointer-finger. It's not punching the clock, or walking unnoticed across a quad; it's the chase, and the escape. It's longing for the open road, a bus ride North, and finding empowerment through empowering others. I've learned what my hands can do but never seen them unshackled, unconstrained.

The beginning of April, warmth pressed against your cheek. Maybe things could have been different, but I had to fall down and break my arm first.