Another Step

Let’s burn our bridges. Let’s keep knocking off rungs that we have climbed over. Pour thick, highly combustible oil over paths we have taken and wear boots that send sparks flying every time we take a step. Let’s do anything it takes to make us never go back, no matter how badly we want to. There’s so much to do, so many figurative and literal roads to take. So much to explore, so many mistakes to make that the last thing we want is to go back to security’s arm. And that’s the first thing we do. Retreat. We can’t give ourselves the reassurance of fixed deposits and risk not making something out of ourselves. How’d we know the rain if we have a shelter to go back to the minute we hear the thunder clapping? Or feel the bitter-salt swirl of seawater if we have buoys hanging by the beach within arm’s reach? We’d never know the crash and the thud of a fall from a height if we dig in a safety on the wall of time before we took the next step up it. How would we have come this far if we could crawl back to our wombs the first time light hit our faces and made us cry?