Before you reach the fork, you will have spat into the chasm. Before you pull your hood down, pick your head up, and press on against the current, you will have considered the abyss and found it wanting.
There are moments in life where your sense of who you are in the world dies aborning. You are standing at the edge of the hole, kicking pebbles into the maw, and there it is and there you are: your hot hand on the telephone receiver, your eyes wet with tears that sting like piss, and you realize that to move along you have to let something inside you die.
It’s either that or you jump into the pit and spend the rest of your life trying to make peace with edges and precipice. So you let your eyes go dead, you say “I guess that’s how it’s going to be,” and you move along. All you have to do is just keep changing the gauze. It pulls a little less skin with it every time. One day the wound’s whole enough to call whole again, more or less.
I don’t know anyone who’s accomplished anything great without having done their time in the pit. You hit the pit before you hit the fork. And I sure as hell don’t know anyone who’s done anything worthwhile without hitting the fork.
Here’s the deal: ten, fifteen, thirty years from now you will remember your moment.
One path just circles around to the start again, like some dumb sunny snake of a playground slide. You’re just going to keep going up and down again. You’re just going to stay where you are.
The other path is cold, wet, and you can’t see more than five feet ahead of you. Truth? You’re scared as hell. You don’t know where you’re going but anywhere’s better than here. Nothing inside of you is dead anymore. Everything is alive, every nerve ending ajangle with urge, want, and desperation.
These are the days you will always remember. Walking that path, stumbling down that path–this is what you will tell your grandkids someday…I looked back, I considered the fork, I remembered the pit, and I told myself to beat my fucking wings.
Every great story has a hero. Every great hero has their moment. Every great moment has its fork.
Beat your wings. Get moving.