So I’m sitting here working and I glance over at my notepad, upon which I’ve scribbled various to-do lists for my job. But it’s not a particular task that catches my eye, it’s this little thing floating isolated over in the corner, spanning two blue ruled lines. A note written in a loopy, awkward cursive script: “I could change.”
I could change.
It’s not a song lyric, and it’s not an admonition. I barely recall even writing it. I think it was something I did while suffering through talking to someone on the phone; my hand moving of its own accord. An artifact of my subconscious mind.
It’s a nice little reminder, too, as I grind through the rest of this day. I could change. I can change.
Not because I have to, but because I want to.
It’s comforting, in a way.