Every one who sets foot into the Jones family kitchen is greeted by the side of a French-door refrigerator. Packed with a gallimaufry of magnets, fortune cookie fortunes, inspirational quotes, postcards, Vegas slots cash vouchers and one three-line biblical excerpt from the book of Matthew, "If your knowledge of fire comes from words alone, Then you must walk into the fire. There is no certainty until you burn." This could very well be part of the Jones family's dogma. The past eight months it has been, without aberration, my mantra.
Seven days ago I interviewed for a job I really wanted in a city I really want to, again, reside. I did not get the job-- for no reason other than someone else was simply a better fit. I asked. Farther away from Charleston than desired, I console myself with the promise of a, hopefully exhausting, run later on this afternoon and perhaps a glass or two of candy-water bourbon before losing myself in sleep tonight. It's gotten warm enough here to leave the windows open. I will welcome the sympathetic breeze more so than the consolations of my parents or friends at the loss of this opportunity.
Tomorrow I will wake up and go for a run. I will read the Wall Street Journal and discuss its contents with my mother over breakfast. I will pretend I am alright. I will make myself believe I can petrify this fear of failure and uselessness into something valuable. I will resume my post at my desk and write and apply and hope.
This is the plight of my generation: walking through fire, either emboldened or burned by flame.
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