The Choices We Should Make

Shouldn't I know?

Shouldn't I care?

I'm almost 38. Even my therapist reminds me my clock is ticking.

I feel nothing.

I hear myself saying the words, but I don't believe them.

I'm just saying them to make him happy, to keep him from leaving me.

It worked, for now. The conversation, done. I gave him what he wanted to hear.

He kisses her on the forehead and heads to the door, back to his apartment for the night.

She crawls into her bed and replays the conversation again.

Why should I want kids?

Should I stay in this relationship?

Should I give up my world just to make him happy?

He should understand me.

Racing thoughts stream through her head. Unable to shut off the cycle of attack from her mind, she glanced at the clock.

3 AM

Shit. I should get some sleep.

There was that word again. Should. It plagued her and kept her up most nights.

You should be married.

You should have kids.

You should take your job less seriously.

And down a spiral of shoulds, her mind went again.

Like a child afraid of the boogeyman, she pulled the covers over her head, hoping to drown out the overwhelming fear.

Suddenly, she heard a rustling outside her window.

She peered out from under her down-filled comforter to see what restless creature lurked in the night.

A dark shadow perched on her abandoned flower box outside her window.

Maybe it's just my mind playing tricks on me.

She gazed deeper. Was this stoic figure only her imagination?

Without any movement, two bright eyes, illuminated like a full moon, were suddenly staring back at her.

"An owl?" she questioned out loud to herself.

Her night vision began to come into focus, and the looming shadow turned into a majestic creature of the night.

Bold, calm, steady, yet there was a certain sadness in his eyes that was all too familiar. They stared at each other for what felt like an eternity, studying each other's pain. There was a shared sense of understanding and companionship, she had never felt before.

Her worries shifted to the journey and hardships that brought this owl to her windowsill.

"An owl shouldn't be in a busy city."

Her thoughts continued to race through the experiences he must have endured to get here. With her speculations, her eyes slowly closed, and she finally drifted off to sleep.

7 AM

The sun assaulted her through the same window she met her fated partner hours ago. She could no longer hide from the world in her warm, feathered bed.

Forced into the shower, preying to wash away the lingering shoulds of the previous night. She began her routine for the day.

She stared into the bathroom mirror at her tired eyes. Another reminder that age was catching up with her. Like a soldier preparing for battle, she armored herself for the day.

With heavy makeup, she hid the bags of sadness and defeat under her eyes. She carefully contoured and highlighted her cheekbones, giving off the elusive youth flow glow of her enemy. It was her protection, her illusion of thick-skin, to hide her vulnerability.

Outfitted in drab colors, void of any color or emotion, to camouflage herself in a world she didn't belong to.

9 AM

The office was her battleground.

Friends her age had moved on. They got married, started having kids, moved to the suburbs. Their paths slowly drifted, with it their alliance.

Now, only her dark, cold eyes showed the opportunistic hunger inside her. She quickly became top of the food chain. She had the endurance the others didn't. She could withstand heavy impact and carried a heavier load than her younger, weaker coworkers.

She was feared by those beneath her and revered by superiors. Referred to as a silent killer. Always flying under the radar, and when least expected, would sweep in to steal their deal.

Her history showed she was willing to do anything to get to the top. And if anyone got in her way, she would chew them up and spit them back out whole.

Her interference was seen as bravery, the wisdom of the way the world works.

She would often hear the others squawk. She knew the gossip and rumors they spread about her. Seldom was she hurt by others trying to tear her down and ignored the harassment as she continued on the hunt for her next prey.

Her success made her feared and alone. But she didn't mind the isolation. It was another form of protection and resistance to the need to conform to societal norms that didn't fit her.

Her attacks were analytic and detailed. She could easily see-through people and pierced through their weaknesses with talon-sharp tactics. She persevered in a world where there was always a bright young chick, eager to take her place.

Her embodiment of a predator was her self-preservation, covering her soft, fragile undercoating. Her sensitive skin had experienced loss, pain, and suffering that only hardened her. Hiding her pain in fear of falling prey to the vultures looming around her.

It kept her up at night, unable to find peace. Her need for survival cost her what it meant to be alive.

6 PM

Back at home, already dark in the cold winter's night. She returned to her pillow, hoping her new companion would be waiting for her arrival.

He was.

This time, when his eyes turned to meet hers, he puffed his chest proudly, exposing his vulnerable white feathers. In his mouth was a small lifeless object, a mouse.

He dropped it on her window. The vulgar offering, a sign of acceptance. They continued to stare at each other, and for another moment, there was comradery in their struggles.

His protection allowed her to drop her armor and her worries. Their joint isolation allowed her to find a partnership and a sense of peace for the first time.

She allows the meditative trace of the owl's gaze to lift the weight of the world off her shoulders and finally found a peaceful night's rest. 

Photo by Jairo Alzate on Upsplash