The Edge

"If you're not living on the edge, you're taking up too much room."

I repeated that kind of funny and sometimes true line to a good friend of mine recently, and he has been spouting it ever since. It's amusing, of course, especially since he is genuinely one of the funniest people I have had the priveledge of knowing. Still...

The past few weeks have been tumultuous (whoa, first time I've used that word) for me. People around me having a generally rough time in many corners, not to mention me having to lose several components of my facial hair due to regimental restrictions. Thankfully, the shorn fuzz is well on its way to recovery, but I don't know if the same can be said about everything else.

It's not nice hearing someone cry over the phone, even if you're (hopefully) not the root of the despondency or frustration. It's frustrating to watch someone's hopes get raised and dashed in a span of days or hours, knowing that perhaps the chance has passed. Heartwrenching to listen to someone you cherish speak about the shortcomings of others, the void that you know you can fill, but not being able to because...

Because. Because it's a risk that apparently can't be taken, to risk what is already there.

In recent weeks I've gotten a few things I didn't expect to receive. Flowers and brownies, hugs and CDs, thoughts and memories. Someone told me recently to stop looking for that thing that I want so, but I don't know if I can really help it. Especially today, and after last night or yesterday.

Sometimes I feel like taking the risks that seem too great, making the leaps that seem too dangerous. Other times I just sit and watch, silent and wishing I had more courage, more time, or that things had simply been different so that it wouldn't be a risk at all.