Before I commence the purpose for which I have set to write upon tonight, I wish to offer a caveat; you see, I was recently told by a dear acquaintance that my writing was good,’…although I sometimes rambled.’ And while I call myself a writer, it is not under the banner of my blog that I do so. This blog is all a letter to myself, a journal, a message in a bottle to future self and progeny. And aside from occasional trysts with poetry, I do not pretend any of this is art – nor do I represent it as such; however, as someone who owns books containing the private letters of some of my favorite writers (Published postmortem), I know that a writer will be judged by his words as well as his works.
That said, I wish to be appraised as a writer upon my coming works of fiction, which, aside from my Love and my Family, my life is dedicated to.
So if I ramble, I make no apologies for it; for I think it the most natural thing in the world.
Vanities and insecurities aside, I am sitting down to write tonight to put the past where it belongs.
A few days ago, while laying in bed on a lazy Saturday day, I turned to Sarah, and asked her to look up the definition of “A sunk cost”. From whence this idea came, I knew not (At the time); however, in the particular state of consciousness I was in, I felt it pertinent to pay attention to what had arisen in my psyche from the depths within.
A sunk cost, we discovered, is a finance term denoting a cost, which, once incurred, is irrecoverable and therefore should not be considered when making future decisions.
I immediately connected the dots in my psyche to the past; for what is the past but something we cannot recover and therefore should not be considered when making future decisions.
For what is the past but something we cannot recover and therefore should not be considered when making future decisions.
A few days later, after coffee, conversation, and dessert, Sarah and I walked around the neighborhood where we had ventured to spend our evening, and I suddenly realized where I had come across the concept of a sunk cost.
In my favorite poem, Bygones, Marina Keegan wrote:
The middle of the universe is here, is tonight,
And everything behind is a sunk cost
Lost in our oceans and our oceans are deep.
We looked up the poem on the spot and the above verse confirmed the dots my unconscious mind had remembered – words, which until then had no conscious meaning to me.
Only before connecting these dots, I had no proper metaphor for letting bygones be bygones.
But once I did, I realized the past was all a sunk cost.
And, unlike Faulker wrote in Requiem For a Nun, of the past being “not even past”, I realized the past was dead, kept alive until then, until now, by the idea that it somehow could be recovered, ala Jay Gatz.
And now, I know that it is simply a sunk cost – and therefore should not be considered for future decision making.
How I wished I had learned this sooner. But, I did not.
So tomorrow I will awake knowing that today is a sunk cost.
Irrecoverable, but not lost. Forgotten perhaps, but not lost.
And there is nothing sad in this; for I am happy. Today and since quite long. But I know now that everything behind is a sunk cost.
So with that, I can let bygones be bygones.