Over the last few years, several people have told me that I should write a book and I’ve often entertained the idea but I haven’t really committed to it until now. I guess the hard part for me has been figuring out what story I want to tell but I some how managed to nail that down in one sentence that I wrote in a text to my partner when I was really upset about feeling like I couldn’t do something. In that, I found that I do have a story rolling around inside my head and it feels like it would be therapeutic to share it with the world. That being said, I’ll be surprised if I get it finished any time soon and I’ll be even more surprised if I ever really get it published and that’s okay.
Here is the opening, completely unedited.
There is a strange kind of power that comes with putting on the right pair of boots. For me, it meant that I could take on the world; No challenge was too great, no obstacle was too difficult, nothing was impossible in the right pair of boots. It seems like every challenge I’ve faced was either because I forgot the power of the boots or because I started to doubt my own abilities, both of which could have been easily solved by putting on my damn boots. I mean this both literally and figuratively.
The first time I tasted power, I was probably about four years old and I remember that moment very clearly. I had heard a scream and I rushed down the stairs to my basement wherein I found my father dragging my dazed mother across the ground by her ankles into his office. My mother shouted at me to get help and my father looked up with a sneer on his face. Then our eyes met and that look of triumph and sadistic glee melted into a cold look of shame, guilt and then pure terror. It was like he had finally been beaten at his own game and very soon the power dynamic was to shift; The hunter became the hunted. He froze and then he bolted, forever leaving the impression on me that all you had to do to completely alter a hopeless situation was to shift the power dynamic when given the opportunity.