What the future holds
David took a slow sip of his coffee, then studied the remainder. He was in a pensive mood. Was the cup half full, or half empty? He wasn’t sure. What of his life, was that half full or half empty? He tried to ascertain how the phrase related to his life. Did he have time left, ripe with golden opportunities, or a gloomier proposition in which life was half over and chances had now passed him by?
Endless deliberations ensued as he sipped the rest of his drink. Approaching fifty, what had he done so far and what, if anything, could now be accomplished? Time was running out on him. The mire deepened, dragging him under. Was there anything he could cling to? He felt choked in a consuming mass of ineptitude. Success had not been his; he hadn’t done anything in particular. He had never run a marathon, climbed a mountain, or sailed a boat. Did that condemn him as a failure? The present mood of mental crisis bore witness to that very fact.
He finished his coffee. That was it; the cup was completely empty. End of story, but the train of thought would not leave him. Here he was, in a corner cafe on the High Street, alone.
‘Goodness, Dave,’ he told himself. ‘Buck yourself up lad! This is a morose mood to be in!’
Needing a new distraction his gaze fell on a group of six smartly dressed males, tightly gathered around a table for four. Most were busy with smart phones. Dave pondered on this new fad of a urgent need to text, call or surf the Internet. When did this start? In the window seat sat an elderly couple. The man was tucking into an all-day breakfast, mopping his egg yolk with a slice of bread, while his wife cut her cheese toastie daintily into neat squares, then paused to take a drink of tea she had poured while Dave’d been analysing his half full/ half empty mug.
Guffaws of laughter emanated from the group of would-be executives. Chairs were pushed back as they arose. One chap patted a shoulder in a condescending manner, moving towards the door. Enter a party of pupils from the local Comprehensive. The giggling group made their way to a pivotal position at the largest table. They pulled notebooks from their bags and after ordering refreshments, commenced some discussion on studies. Obviously a free period, whatever it was called these days, Dave assumed.
Then he realised that within this small vignette of society, people were in company. Why, then, was he not? Of course, he knew the answer. He hadn’t planned it; he didn’t like it. He thought he had it managed, handling it like a man, nothing fazing him, but hating it more as the weeks passed by, sinking deeper into the swamp of his existence.
The cafe slowly emptied. What time was it? He should leave.
The walk home took a contemplative course, channelling his earlier mêlée of thoughts into a flow, finally anchoring in a haven of decision. His cup was only half full and he resolved to complete it. Almost as if a light shone upon him, he found a branch to grasp. He was suddenly buoyant, jaunty. A mental compass pointed the way forward.
Tomorrow would be a fresh start, with new horizons.
He had a path to navigate, a vision of what the future might hold.
