The Dance: I sometimes wish, knowing what I do now, that I could appreciate wonder.

Maybe it IS good we don't know how it will go. Anything.

I hate to think that could be true. But it must be.

Here is a momentary backstory:

I used to read voraciously. I don't now.

Most of my life, I read and read. It was consuming. But I never wanted to wonder about what would happen in the end. I would skip to the few last pages, see how it went, then I'd read the whole book. Happy to just know the end.

I still wanted to experience the tale; I just wanted to know to ending before the trip.

Movies: I rarely watch them these days. I've always, without fail, wanted to view them with someone else who could tell me how it all ends.

I said to my mom not long ago
(. . .when I saw a list of traits of successful people. It said you should not lose a sense of wonder)

"I don't feel or like "wonder,'" and it was no news to her. I mean that in all forms it presents its self. Most folks find that sad. Maybe it is. Probably.

Or it's protective.
Or just who I am.

Wonder is surprise.
It is also curiosity.
But then, It is doubt.

I either do not like or want those experiences.

Yet, after all of that is said and meant, I am glad when I sat here at 10 years old in this photo . . .(a day I remember like moments ago, when I fail to recall so much well. . .)

that I remember my mother showing my this awful striped dress and saying how I had to wear it because I needed to match Angel. I recall thinking how we never took posed photos and how we drove to Logan, I swear, to take these. Quentin was grumpy and didn't look happy. That wasn't normal. He was cheery, usually, until he could talk. Benny needed a hair cut. He looked like an orphan. He wasn't one. I did not want to wear a dress. Any dress. Times have changed. I was mean about it. It was too tight for a girl built like a linebacker.

Oh, so much I didn't know.

I am sure, even then, I would have asked to know. It someone would have said, "I can skip forward, dear, 13 years, and I can tell you everything won't really want to know, but it will ruin everything for you, so should I?" And I'd have screamed over and over, "Yes, tell me everything. Dare I have to wonder!"

I'm glad it didn't happen like that.

Let's be a Garth Brooks song, The Dance, for a minute. . .

"And now I'm glad I didn't know,
the way it all would end, the way it all would go. . .
Our lives are better left to chance, I could have missed the pain,
But I'd have to miss the dance. . ."

It's true.

There would have been no joy in holding that baby brother who would die 13 years later. As most of them would. No way to spend time like we had forever ahead with the sister when she was 16 taking selfies before they had a name or we had cell phones. No time to . . . Well, the truth is, here is where maybe knowing would have changed things for the better, as I'd have found a way to not live odds with the middle one. Ben. I would have better something how less or more or anything else. Maybe knowing sometimes would have been best.

On this day, I think I am glad I didn't know.

I posed here with a silly mullet and the people I've loved that has been,

The truth is there were thousands of days that felt happy and almost or entirely carefree because I didn't know what was coming. None have been thus since I realized the end of our story together.

I sometimes wish, knowing what I do now, that I could appreciate wonder.

I can't.
And usually, I don't want to.

But when I ran across this photo, I am glad I didn't know. I am glad I assumed the ending was something else. I believed, without a doubt, it was beautiful.

Maybe it still is. Just not like I thought it would be.