It used to be that I would sit in my car overlooking the duck pond and cry. Really, that’s what I would do. I’d watch the big ducks and the little ones. I’d watch them fish for food or peck at the ground. I’d watch them waddle around, sometimes fight. And I’d cry. I’d look at the clouds in the sky. I’d watch the trees sway in the breeze against the blue sky. I’d look at the big apartment building opposite me and wonder if anyone was looking at me just then. I’d wonder if anyone else was looking out on to the pond and crying.
It used to be that I was pretty miserable. I was very unhappy. I felt like I wasn’t living life. I felt like I was just waiting for everything to happen to me. And instead of doing something – really doing something – I’d park myself somewhere and cry. And sometimes I’d write. And
sometimes most of the time, that would make me cry even more.
Everyone around me was living life; I felt stuck for some reason. Trapped. I knew I wanted more, but I was afraid.
And that made me cry, too.
I guess I was a big fat crier.
Today I went back to that duck pond and parked my car. I watched the ducks waddle and search for food. I even noticed one with a bad limp, the poor thing. I looked at the grey skies, the green trees, the murky water. I looked at the huge apartment complex and wished I could just erase it from my view.
I didn’t cry today. I think I almost did at one point when I thought back on how often I used to go to this pond and do just that. Cry.
I was pretty sad then.
Am I happy now?
Kinda, yeah. For the most part; but more than that, I think I’m just un-sad. Know what I mean? Like, of course life could certainly be more interesting but it’s okay.
Sometimes, it’s okay to be okay.