The axis of just about everyone’s personal universe is balanced on something precarious and unpredictable.What will he think? What will she think? Will I look stupid? What will they think if I fail?
This brotherhood of apprehensions comes in a thick book full of myriad shade cards.
One more debilitating than the other, leading to paralysis.
Of intent, actions, determination and resolve.
It’s that same look you see on a child’s face, tapping his bat nervously, waiting for the ball to come in the backdrop of a sea of expectant faces.
Behind stooped shoulders and a quivering mouth, desperate to answer a lingering questioned scribbled and left unanswered on a blackboard.
In an unfinished joke that withers away on unsure lips.
On the beads of perspiration dripping down throbbing temples, which were full of a speech, now frozen, having already predicted failure and judgement.
All they really need to do is see nothing, assume nothing, hear nothing, but the sound of their own voices.
They are the masters of their destinies.
Opinions and tags are like transient ash from a withering campfire.
Long after the ash, fire and heat are gone, what will remain are the coals and pebbles of their determination.