I left the cold morning mist of the Bay and took a long drive into the Valley. This is where I hope to find the sun and a clearer conscience. The car is a convertible, but it isn’t mine. Its color almost matches the glint of the cloud’s edge; I find that somehow comical. I look nothing like myself these days: thinner, darker, less American. It’s taken me two attempts – but I’m here now. I look up and see a smile in the rear-view mirror and then I see my forehead and laugh out loud because I’m sun-burnt in February. I feel myself laughing harder and harder, my body jolts and jerks, but I can’t hear anything through the wind. I howl.
Letting go was not easy for me. It took time to go deaf to the criticisms, mine and theirs, and numb to ambition’s persistent tingle. My need to control is no longer; and gone with it, the burden life had become after all these years of trying. I feel the lightness in me now, the same kind glowing ashes must feel. And all it took was a death, a divorce and the end of a lifelong career…
– Christopher Troy
Criticism is an act of love. Share your thoughts with me below.