Every day a sliding door

Indecision forever!

every day a sliding door.

what should I be?
how should my tomorrow
unfold? i let my gaze fall
on the rioting garden center,
on a paint-chipped diner,
on a desk landsliding with 
piles of printed pages,
running hills of leaky 401ks
-- untethered uncoordinated
starts and halts -- 
what should I be 
when I grow up?
what is the calculation?
i wish my accountant sister 
would send me her equation 
or someone would
prescribe me a drug.
i want an escape nap.
this is another couch-to-5k,
10 years later 
on dodgier ankles 
down an irresolute trail.
define backtracking
i mumble to a
faithless bluejay that
won’t quit squawking as
i skid then slide and
grab for any sapling.
mom mom MOM, please!
another day further on 
from where it all began 
and she still can’t help.
i let my gaze fall on
the unmoving passage 
and wish for anyone 
but me 
to walk through it.

---

“I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn’t make up my mind which of the figs I would choose.

I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet.”

― Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar

Poem 3 in the series “The Liminal Season.”

My soul sister Carly asked for me to write on the word “indecisive.” I don’t know why she chose this word — I can only try to write about in a way that makes it feel personal, but also universally relevant.

Rarely have I ever met anyone who doesn’t struggle with self-identity, suffering mini life crises now and then. Except my sister, Mary, the accountant who has it amazingly together! She’s awesome!

Thanks for reading.