the one where tears just show up out of wherever they've been hiding and you actually cry over beginning again, never mind how deep down excited you are about it all. that moment when you think - no, that moment when you know you can't do this, that you are all just words and surface, and old surface at that, and you're sitting at the table you made room for in your tiniest of spaces and there's a brush in your hand and no matter what you put on the canvas it is just the awfullest ever, and self talk starts creeping in. that moment. you are too old, the voice inside you whispers, you are silly for thinking you could start again, no one will care about these pieces, you don't even know what you want to say, it was just a stupid thought you had and you should never have said it aloud, much less believed it yourself.
and while you're sitting at that table, feeling hopeless and way too old and thinking nothing but a package of m&ms will help, the girl across the street pulls up with a couple of boys, she all sixteen and black and beautiful, lovely late afternoon sunlight sliding across her face, she with her whole life ahead of her, the boys all white and thinking they are men, tshirts with the sleeves torn off, football player arms and strength and all showing off, these still young boys, not quite men, and you say a little prayer for her, that she will not let them take away her dreams. so easy to let that happen at sixteen.
and you look back at all your bad decisions and all the good ones, too, though today even the good ones feel like a necklace of albatrosses, but, no longer being sixteen, you reach way down into your almost giving up soul, and find a bit of wisdom, a bit of something you have learned, and you just stop. you clean the brushes and you close up all the paint, and you tell yourself you need a brighter lamp and you put that on the list for tomorrow morning. you remind yourself that today counted, that putting brushes and paint on canvas is where you start. you tell yourself you need more gesso to cover up the mistakes, knowing you will let bits of those mistakes stay, and you add that to tomorrow's list.
and so it begins.
i remember this moment from years gone by.
over and over.
it's the first day of school every time.