damaged goods
we're damaged goods, all of us fractured, fragmented wounded by life desperate for love and attention but often unclear on how to make them happen. chasing after counterfeits faltering like a bird left behind by its flock flaming out like a Broadway show that fails to attract a crowd one more bit of wreckage on a growing pile. how do we persevere, broken but of necessity moving on toward whatever awaits us? seeking a vision of wholeness beyond the debris, perhaps, a ghost in the machine. or simply flapping forward stubbornly like that left-behind bird.
I take a different view. I get out of bed in the morning, point my finger skyward and declare, "Showtime!" and then I show up. I reject the idea that everyone is damaged goods "flapping forward like a left-behind bird." Everyone has set backs, sure. Everyone gets discouraged, of course. We also all have the wherewithall to get back on the horse and try again, just like The Little Engine That Could.