The Manual

When I was given this life

I was not given a manual

The manual isn’t given,

It’s grown in the weeds you don’t mow

And the people you meet at that dive bar down the street

Who tell you all about their adventures

and make you want to take your own

it’s not a guidebook you can check out of a library

it’s seared into the skin you burned when you fried those chocolate chip cookies

and your sister moved away for the first time.

The manual is a life lesson that you must find like a scavenger hunt

Or a golden egg on easter at the annual egg hunt

It hides in plain sight

In the park benches you occupy on the days after a hard day of work

When a stranger sits beside you…

And you talk about this life you’re living

They ask about your day.

You say “normal”

They say, “nothing about this life is ever normal”

You look at them,

The manual writes itself into the pages of the books you read fifteen times

Just because you liked the main character

There is no manual.

There is what you make of this thing we call life.