The Cowardly Lion

Something tells me that I'm destined to wear the costume of the "Cowardly Lion" today.

I wore it yesterday, as well.

I'd much rather be Aslan the not tame Lion from Lewis' -- "The Lion, The Witch, And The Wardrobe." With feet anchored in eternity and eyes fixed on heaven. With hope for the future of my life, my family, my world, my all.

Nope. I'm wearing the cowardly lion suit again. Afraid, scared of the uncertain, assuming my imminent demise. Not that too many folks would miss me -- I'm kind of a pain in the shorts anyway. At least as far as changing the course set before me.

It's as though I'm driving a formula one race car in a demolition derby... Not my choice of race, but I got to drive anyway. Spend more time covering my tail than anything else. Then folks get pissed at me for my attitude. Not to mention theirs.

Pick an analogy. Happy/sad masks. Good cop/bad cop. Dark side/light side. I am seemingly always opposed to the status quo. Always going against the grain. Always the goad in someone else's side.

I'm sick of it.

But I can't hide. I can't blend in. I'm just -- The Cowardly Lion.

For better or worse.