Maybe there would be more help…
or, thankfully, less need for it.
Maybe there would be less confusion…
or, finally, an understandable explanation.
Maybe there would be more shared beliefs…
or, perhaps, less misunderstandings.
Maybe life would be less complicated…
or, surely, more predictable.
Maybe, the stress would lighten up,
or, if I was lucky, I would.
Maybe choices would be obvious…
or, when I got older, I would not have so much self-doubt.
Yes, it would get easier…
or, at least, less difficult.
I was sure…
but, not really.
It is the waiting-for-something-different that causes the pain of anxiety.
A-perfectly-good-world-that-has-no-perfect-solution is good enough, if I let it be so.
Maybe life feels scary…
or, if I allow it, unpredictable and interesting.
Maybe agreement is impossible…
or, if I admit it, evidence of the infinite variety of values.
Maybe stress is beastly…
or, if I reflect, an efficient way to promote evolution.
Maybe independence is terrifying…
or, if I stop resisting, the only way to know myself.
Maybe decisions are overwhelming,
or, if I embrace them, confirmation of my power.
Maybe support is comforting…
or, if I’m honest, maybe it’s a handicap.
Is it going to get easier?
I thought so.
Then, I hoped not.