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You, The Passenger...


The pursuit begins to sputter.

The ferocity of your childhood dreams becomes exhausting.

But you slow, attempt to recoup, to revitalize; adjust the parameters of success.

Afterward, there is a brief jolt of rejuvenation, your confidence gripping the steering wheel, the engine pulsating with NHRA bravado.

But, as you confidently accelerate through turns, an immense and noble stag strides into the road, his imperious gaze opposing the intensity of your high beams.

You swerve, brakes screeching, a tire bursting, your hands lifting from the wheel as you realize the crash, the devastation of everything you had ever wanted, is inevitable…


During recovery, you try to rekindle positivity, paging through innumerable books of Inspiration, Leadership and Oprah’s Gurus Of 10 Easy Steps For Self-Transformation And Reinvention.

Sure, whatever… You discard another book of hokum to the floor, while winching from your injuries.

Or, is it bitterness?

Maybe it's just time to go with the flow, right? Everyone advises.

But, that philosophy seems like inaction, capitulation, you as the leaf floating downstream with your direction dictated by the whims of the current and the breeze, nibbled upon by insects and even used as a raft by all sorts of water creatures…

No… You finally answer. I will figure this out.


On the way home from rehabilitation, you’re in the passenger seat, looking through the window onto a landscape that is transforming: society, culture, politics, its mores and morals, all of it uprooted…

Those damaged dreams suddenly feel…old.


Conjured in a different world.

Rendered hopeless. 

You wouldn’t be driving anymore, Everyone says. It’s fine. We can drive. We don’t mind.


Oh, look at that wisp of grey, They smile. Still trying even at your age…That’s good. That’s good.

You nod, hobbling into the passenger seat.


The scenery has evolved, but it’s still unmistakable. The past, its memory, its essence, is still intact.

Things sure have changed, uh? Says the driver.

Not really, it’s still kinda there…

The driver grunts, It will never be the same. That’s just how it is.

The driver slows, the road obstructed by a series of accidents.

Look at all that, Says the driver.

There is carnage and debris.

So many dreams just gone… The driver slows, gawking at the wreckage.

You want to tell the driver to stop their rubbernecking, tap the accelerator, but…

You smile, realizing you’re the passenger.

I’ll get there…Maybe…Hopefully.

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