On a Saturday morning while watching the kids play soccer, I’m suddenly struck by the thought that it all may not work out. That the hours of therapy and 6 am meetings and midnight confessions and kitchen table amends will come to nothing and I’ll be left with the consequences of myself, which, like gasoline I will pour on myself while looking for a match. There will be no reason not to create the spark. Because really, it will be clear that nothing matters really at all.
And just then I look up and one of the kids scores a goal, but I don’t know who because while I was staring at the figures running across the field, I was looking at something else. And I know that I’ve been told that not missing this moment is supposed to be reason enough.
But is it? I really don’t see how because as the lady sings when she sees the house afire: “Is that all there is my friend? Then let’s go dancing.”
