I used to wish for clairvoyance—I thought it could only benefit someone like me to know my entire future. I am the kind of girl that always has a winedark bruise somewhere on my legs, and for the life of me, I can never remember where and when I bonked myself with force enough to inflict that sort of thing. my mother always said it was because i felt things with such force; everything showed. so i thought if i could get a crystal ball and predict all the pratfalls, then i would be golden, as it’s the unexpected tumbles that leave the marks anyways. i remember asking whatever higher power I believed it at the time to let me know, just give me a sign; would I find my calling, would I ever have a great love, would I create anything of lasting importance, would I be that nebulous quality we deem happy, would I be brave? And I convinced myself I really wanted to know the answers, good or bad, because it would make the rest of my days easier— if say, I knew for a fact that I would be forever unattached and could therefore come to terms with it and buy a house by the sea in cornwall and grow old making glass mobiles or something. Like that was a bruise I could get out of given the time. I was clearly a teenager when pursuing this line of reasoning.
The funny thing is right now, I can’t see ten feet in front of me, and I like it better. The small scrapes i’ve gotten from being sideswiped lately have healed nicely, and I like getting them. Like Maude says, go out and love some more, and get roughed up, and give up divinations. Nothing that you are really prepared for will end up mattering, turns out. The boy scouts had it wrong.