I have been waiting a long time for something that happened today. In the back of my mind, biding my time for the comeback of someone who fell from grace, so to speak. When it finally came to be, my momentary joy was quickly squashed.
Tiger Woods came all the way back and won The Masters. What a journey he’s had; a lot of obstacles, personal failure, so many rooting against him it seemed he’d never reach the top again. But he did.
I knew he would do it, years ago I so wanted him to come back, but, because of selfish reasons. Yes, I am happy for him, but I planned to use him as an example of the epic comeback. Expressly so I could claim the same rights that he had.
It’s funny though, I don’t feel anything like that because his return to glory only seems to solidify myself among the ranks of the beaten.
My mind thinks more of death than it does life, more about being lost than resurrection and more depression than restoration. I’m in deep now and way over my head. The thick quagmire my mind is populated with dire and formidable obstacles that have me stuck with my head barely above its crushing grip.
The encouraging little story I always wanted to write is gone. I’ve fallen below the ability to draw any courage from his conquest. Ah, could be that’s the way it would’ve always played out. After all, we have to find that strength from within.
The Place to be Real 