The project I've been working on for the last 6 years is no longer.
The project I was hoping to start next week is bust.
The little pink line I was hoping for this month wasn't there.
The other day, I was in the pool, watching a little boy try to jump from the diving board. His mom was standing by the edge, cheering him on. His dad was in the water, waiting for him with open arms. The boy stood there, and stood there. He moved to the edge of the board, and moved back. I couldn't stop watching him, and I'm pretty sure everyone else in the pool, even the ones doing laps past me so quickly I could have waterskied behind them, was watching too.
"Jump," we said, silently, in unison. "There's someone there to catch you. It's going to be okay."
He didn't see it, of course. Just like I can't see that despite being 35, and wondering what on earth I'm doing, it's going to be okay.
The only difference is, I know there's someone there to catch me.
So today, instead of working, I went to the park.
I lay down in the grass and said "Fuck" a bunch of times.
I met a friend for dinner.
I made pancakes for dessert.
My life preserver - imagined though it may be - has floated away. But there's one thing to be said for being 35.
I'm jumping anyway.