I was looking for something else, of course, when I found some notes about a decade and a half old. It was a schedule made when optimism was a tangible reality all around me, a projection based on deeds then easily done.

When I wrote them, this year was ridiculously far away, and I was just scribbling calculations. But I'm now living in the summer in which the plan had me owning my current home free and clear, according to the numbers at the bottom of the page.

The Greeks called that hubris, I think, the arrogance of believing one would accomplish things that would distinguish you from the everyday, and place you among the legends.

It eats at me a bit to recall it, the time when I thought I could do those things. Turns out, for me at least, it's unlikely enough even to remain placed upon the map.

I'm immersed in reminders right now that some still think of far goals. At my every turn and stop, there's some new plan afoot. I look too many people in the eyes who are talking of that new, better ship of their soul they are launching, complete with schedules, plans, deeds easily done.

I'll lift and carry, and brace and block, and out-think myself and others, to support each one of them on their paths. It's important to me that someone supports those that make plans, those who do deeds. Perhaps especially since I still have notes of my old plans to go along with the remains of my old deeds.

I have every hope I'll be shown someday that hopes can be shown to be right.