Why’d you get those tattoos and other questions I wish people asked me

There is a river of thoughts so consistent within me that it’s been easy to mistake it for truth

A poem two and a half times written named tomorrow to live into, to remind, to surrender, to grieve the passing of a future day when I finally do what I know is important,

And those lessons I haven’t learned marking my body

Swiftest is he who goes by foot - a prompt by Thoreau to just get started. On my good foot, the one to put forward.

Miles to go before I sleep - a prompt by frost to not admonish the heavy yet measured step

Coeur Vaillant - the words of Jacques to remind me that nothing is impossible with a willing heart

This is as young as you’ll ever be to remind me to have as much nostalgia for the old youth as I do for the youth I’m experiencing now.

And make time to remind myself that all of the above can only happen now

And what of the river? It’s a home to me, standing in it is the most consistent experience I have of myself.

These tattoos are wards in my ecology of thought. They are not powerful enough, but they help.

Somehow these river thoughts, that I’m lazy, that I’m not good enough, not qualified, don’t know what I’m doing, don’t have any friends, don’t have any significance or understanding, they are so proudly stoic, recirculating on the same closed system like a waterfall stream in Central Park or a lazy river at a waterpark.

They are unphased by changes in my life, my behavior, my demeanor.

No amount of proof is sufficient to dispel them. The river is always there. Available. A radio station I can tune into. The one that’s on when the car gets started.

So here I am,

humbly for the 13961st time,

Just get started,

just keep going,

You can do anything,

You’re not getting any younger

You just have to make time