The Dreaded Ease of Discomfort

I sat down in front of the TV. Unsolved Mysteries was about to start. Every week Robert Stack would tell the world about another woman who was found dead in the woods, another child dragged from the park into a car, never to be seen again.
"This is it." I thought.
"I'm going to help find these killers."

"I am going to be a Criminal Profiler for the FBI." I announced to no one in particular.

I read every book I could find about serial killers, criminal profiling, I studied psychology, I bought a gun, I went on Ride-ALongs, I dated a guy whose uncle was a serial killer (and in prison). I trained, I ran, I did push-ups, sit-ups, I learned how to fight, how to break a neck, an arm, whatever I needed to.

I was ready.

Next step college. My gateway to freedom, my path to my dream. My downfall.

The first class I took, I failed. Doubt crept in like a thick fog, and settled in to stay.

I took another class, I passed. I took a few more. Time marched on faster than my expectations.

The weight of life pushed down on me. My gateway to freedom started to look like a dark abyss out in front of me.

I looked over and Fear was standing next to me.
"How long have you been standing there?" I asked.
"Long enough" Fear replied.

I am not meant to be an FBI agent, I am not smart enough, fast enough, educated enough. I dont have the right tools, right mindset, right degree.

Fear stood there with a boombox on his shoulder and played this on repeat. It echoed through the fog of doubt, and amplified the dark abyss.

I stood at the crossroads of FBI and anything else. My heart hurt, my soul ached. I took a step towards anything else. I picked up my backpack of Dread. It was almost to heavy to bear. I looked down at my feet. One slow step at a time. Five hundred steps, a thousand.

As I walked through life, life continued to happen. I look behind me as I walk. Fear is next to me, the fog of doubt surrounds me if I pause for too long, the backpack of Dread is heavy. Around my ankles I now have tied to me Regret and Guilt. I dont even remember when they latched on to me. But we have been walking together for many, many miles now.

I am tired. I tell Fear to go away. I yell at him.  I try to run. Dread is too heavy. I try to put the backpack down, but when I stop moving, the fog of Doubt envelopes me. I cant see. All I can hear is Fears boombox on repeat. I start walking again. The comfort of the rhythm. Guilt and Regret dragging along. Fears sounds start to sound normal. The fog becomes comforting like a blanket, and the backpack makes me feel grounded.

Time continues to march on. My expectations lay shattered like glass all around me. I just keep walking.