Manifest Destiny

It was a tattoo.

What is past is prologue.

It spread out across her shoulder in script with many flourishes. Was it a philosophical statement or a prediction? A happy promise or a sign advertising coming sadness?

It all depends, I guess, on whether the past was good or bad.

In college, I was driven mad for weeks by the notion that every single move I was making had been predetermined by every other move previously made. It was an overwhelming sense of oppressive destiny that was crazy-making every second of every day. Fundamentally, it was a war in my head about free will, the possibility of inevitability about every choice I was making pretty much letting me off the hook.

It’s not my fault. It had to be that way.  What is past is prologue, don’t you know?

I looked again at the tattoo. Is that what she believes? Was it one of the choices in the tattoo catalogue? Or did she find the quote in a book of Shakespeare’s plays?

It’s not what I believe. It’s foreign to me. I long ago realized that every minute is a new choice, informed by the past but not made automatic. I can go or stay. Speak or be silent. Change or stay the same.

Because I believe this, it makes looking at the tattoo very hard. It makes me want to look at something with more hope.

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“What is past is prologue.” William Shakespeare, The Tempest