What Breakthroughs Really Feel Like
I expected breakthroughs to announce themselves with a grand parade, with dancers and flourishes, marching bands, and balloons,
With all the pomp and circumstance of a grand entrance, a celebration with confetti falling from the sky and trumpets blaring,
An ascension to a high castle somewhere, where I could look down on all the world.
Perhaps there would be fireworks enough to put the Fourth of July to shame,
A big party where all your friends arrive from all corners of the world to help you feel even better,
And there would be lots of good food and amazing wine, and everyone would look fabulous.
Maybe the breakthroughs would be more like a concert, an unforgettable sensual memory of lights, sounds, and goosebump on your flesh.
I expected they’d announce themselves like the ecstasy of winning the lottery, an all expenses paid trip to New Zealand, or a college graduation.
But I’ve found that a breakthrough is more like the emotional crisis you’d go through if you lost a five year old little girl in a huge mall, and then after looking in every store, down every aisle in a frenzied panic, you found her in the most obvious place…
at the security office, sucking on a lollipop,
And you go from intense fright, to the craziest relief imaginable as she stands up walks over to you and says with a bit of irritation: “What took you so long?”
And without any cynicism or doubt, she puts her little hand in yours,
and trusts you won’t let go this time…
Even though there’s a really good chance you might lose her again
Amongst the distractions and shiny things in the mall.
