The harder I tried to make things happen the worse I felt. It was like an enormous weight—an anchor—was holding me back. This anchor seemed to be fastened permanently to my body keeping me from going where I wanted to. The reality was that I was sinking, I was flat lining fast with no hopes of resuscitation. I was pushing so hard to be ‘successful’ to reach that ‘imaginary line’ that a distinctive pattern began to emerge in my life.
Dale Fredrickson
Poet and educator from Denver, Colorado
