Here I Go Again...

Status: Finished

Here I Go Again...

Status: Finished

Here I Go Again...

Essay by: Bill Rayburn

Genre: Memoir

Houses:

Essay by: Bill Rayburn

Details

Genre: Memoir

Houses:

Summary

The lurking fear of feeling happy and content, and the resulting bleak question that arises: Now what? What keeps us from trusting the good times?

Summary

The lurking fear of feeling happy and content, and the resulting bleak question that arises: Now what? What keeps us from trusting the good times?

Content

Submitted: April 04, 2012

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Content

Submitted: April 04, 2012

A A A

A A A


 

Here I Go Again

 

“An’ here I go again on my own

Goin’ down the only road I’ve ever known

Like a drifter I was born to walk alone

‘Cos I know what it means

To walk along the lonely street of dreams”

 

---Whitesnake

 

 

Today is beautiful here in the Valley. Sixty five degrees, windless, cloudless, perfectly still. Holiday has reduced what little traffic there is in this small town to virtually nothing. A great day to listen to your thoughts, and to read a book.

 

So, that’s what I’m doing. On the front porch, on the porch swing, bathed in the warm glow of sunshine, Annie asleep at my feet. I gaze out at the beautifully landscaped yard, flowers beginning to bloom, lawns neatly mowed, and birds chirping the happiest of songs.

 

I have just begun to read what I already know will be one of the great books I have read in a couple of years. (Coming Apart, by Charles Murray). There is not much to compare that feeling to. I know I will be putting this book down often, laying it upon my chest, for mostly two reasons. Because he has written something that requires thought and rumination; and because I don’t want to hurry, don’t want to finish this book. I don’t want it to end. It’s that good.

 

I just turned 52; my future sits before me, unplanned, yet still appearing rosier than at any time I can remember. I’ve had a solid, peaceful run of almost angst-free living, a rarity for me. I have others to thank for some of this, of course, and they know who they are. I have been generous with my appreciation. Again, I don’t want it to end. It’s that good.

 

Yet, I put the book down on my chest, and guess who crept into my world.

 

Doubt. The sinister devil-in-me waiting for the shoe to drop.

 

Doubt that my current peace of mind can sustain itself.

 

Doubt, even, as to the accuracy of how I see these recent good times and contentedness.

 

I hate this shit.


© Copyright 2016 Bill Rayburn. All rights reserved.

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