On coping

Trouble doesn’t come by the slice, but by the pie. Out of the oven of turmoil is released a piping-hot feast of misfortune fit for a fully-guested table, but you are the only one there to fill a seat. It’s daunting how much has been prepared, how the thick crust bulges as if the innards are ready to spring forth of their own volition. You hesitate; you hadn’t expected such an enormous portion. Your knife hovers over the crisp exterior, trembling slightly, your resolve wavering.

But you do it. You make the first, careful incision, and it’s tougher than you’d hoped. Perhaps the oven was just a tad too hot, or maybe the ingredients were stale to begin with. There’s no turning back, whatever the case, so you continue to extract a piece from the tin and place it in front of you. It’s even less appetizing after having been separated from the whole, the gooey filling oozing forth onto your plate. “This is too much,” you despair. “I can’t do it. And was I ever even hungry to begin with?”

Still, you take a bite, and a sudden calm overcomes you. It’s not that it’s not every bit as bitter and disagreeable as you’d imagined; it is. Rather, you realize that even if forced to down the entire unpleasant concoction, one thing will remain true:

You’ll make it.

Posted on 12/10/06 at 12:15AM,