… the looking glass?

As I stood there in the parking lot reserved for the ambulances rushing into the ER unit, the frosty wind whipped the smoke from the dying embers of the cigarette into my watering eyes; I looked up at the eclipsed moon and was lost to my wandering thoughts. In that moment the silence amongst the sirens and bustle reality hit. Inside, beyond the doors of the ER, lay something between my dreams and reality. My bête blanc who offers some rescue from the tepid waters that I seemed to treading in of late. And after the moment of love had passed, the fear crept in that I had walked the highest tightrope of my professional career and almost fallen from grace in risking everything by betting the house.

My highwire act, the culmination of two years hard work after I set out to establish a company two years ago that would mould and shape an industry to my wants and desires. I stumbled. I picked myself up. I tripped a few times but can safely say that I have achieved something more: respectability. And from that he had become a flashpoint to everything good, as the six months passed between us, found me once again in the no-mans land where I often stand. Somewhere beyond the automated doors, behind a pale cream curtain a team of doctors were working to heal something broken but for the first time in a long time, the emptiness missing from my life was less understandable.

Fast forward a few weeks later and I find myself sitting opposite some of the most influential businessman in the land discussing the very things I am passionate about. The saying that “those who know keep quite, and those that don’t speak the loudest” rings true for the accomplished do not need to speak of their achievements because they speak for themselves. So I sit and watch the few around the table who, instinct tells me are kindred spirits and like minded to the cause. Beside me sits my bête blanc, naive and willing. Opposite him my bête noir, cynical and disqualified. The two sides of the same mirror whispered about in so many Carroll novels.

The moon wanes, the cold becomes frigid and in-between the secrets whispered by lovers nestled under down-feather duvets that insulate the act of love making, the days become shorter. You question the little things that come your way and make big decisions about the future yet unrealised and hope that they will inform the realities you wish them to become. Love becomes blind to the insecurities of greying hair, a few extra wrinkles around the eyes and the indulgence of a few good meals evident in the tightness of a bespoke suit. When the mere words “I love you” makes you believe in incorruptible emotions and the actions therein outweigh the fear without you start to believe in something else.

What that is right now I’m unsure of. What I do know is that for now the tidal fear has drawn back leaving a pathway of smooth, shiny rocks to navigate my journey along a diverging path of my own choosing. I know I’m going to stumble again. I know I may even fall. I know that I have friends, and a lover, who will help me up and hold my hand as I learn to take one step at a time towards greatness.

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