Transcendence, Interrupted
As a child, I believed I was special. I grasped complex ideas quickly, asked questions about reality that my peers never considered, and felt destined for greatness.
But as I grew older, life had a way of dissolving those ideas. Not that I was unhappy—I had a great wife, great kids, joyful moments—but something was missing. A dull ache in my chest, a heaviness in my eyes—surfacing at odd moments, unbidden.
But as I grew older, life had a way of dissolving those ideas. Not that I was unhappy—I had a great wife, great kids, joyful moments—but something was missing. A dull ache in my chest, a heaviness in my eyes—surfacing at odd moments, unbidden.