The Flag

There's a flag up ahead. When you get there, you'll finally sit down. Not before. That's the deal you made with yourself.

First the exam. Then the job. Then the better job. Just this one stretch, and then you'll rest, and enjoy it, and call your friends.

And every time you arrive, there's another flag, a little further on. So you nod, and you keep walking. Past this one. Past the next. You don't even slow down anymore.

You're doing great, by the way. Everyone says so. You're just the only one who hasn't heard, because you were already looking at the next one. There was a party at the last flag, actually. You'd left by then.

And at night you think: when does the good part start? You're not ungrateful. You were taught that joy is a reward. That you have to finish first. And nobody ever told you where the finish is.

So stop for a second. Just this once. Don't look ahead. Turn around.

Look at that. A whole row of them. Every single one was once the place where life would finally begin. The exam you were so afraid of. The job you wanted so badly. You walked through the good part without stopping. Some of it is happening right now.

The next flag can wait a minute. It's very patient. You don't have to give it up. You only have to sit down at this one first. Which one did you never celebrate?