People will constantly be divided into two kinds. Regardless of the gazillion unnameable, innumerable differences we all may have, it always comes down to two. Recent developments in my life, in particular, reminds me of how much this “space between” have us all significantly marked – like a friggin invisible ink tattoo, segregating us from our kind and the other.
One such differential sprouts from actually getting what we want (granting of course, that we all know what we want). I’ve played this in my mind over and over within the last few weeks and came to the realization that I belong in the set who, after finally getting close to attaining what they want, gets paralyzed. And I don’t mean just in the figurative sense but literally frozen, don’t-know-what-to-do/how-to-act kind of paralyzed. Like a tiny swell in the middle of a calm sea that gets thrown into the throngs of mighty waves and crashes into the sand and back… Okay, maybe not that dramatic but something close to that. It’s not like being after the chase solely, no. I mean, we all want the chase, stop kidding yourselves. But this is more than that. It’s like being in that constant state of chasing and chasing and chasing and then bam! You got him/her. You finally got ’em! And it feels so infinitely good, waaay better than that threefold Utopian dream Brandon Boyd was crooning about… And then, what?
Which brings me to the other kind. The kind who are so damn good on the follow-through. I used to think I belonged in this set. I used to think a lot of things… Things that are so ironically contrasting to how I actually I am that I feel like shit. Anyway… This other half, more often than not, are the ones who keep the paralyzed half in check. They keep my kind in motion, making sure we don’t freeze to death on the spot or rebound into old bad habits.
He belongs in this half. And I can only imagine how tough it must be for him to be chasing after the likes of me. I don’t know why he does it. I still don’t understand why and how he can care so much when he’s totally free to just leave me be and stick it out with someone of his kind. Not that I would want him to but I know me. And in spite of myself, I still know what I want – and it’s him. It’s always been him. Clincher: I suck so much on the follow-through.
I suck at it probably on purpose. Maybe it’s the writer in me purposely turning things to shit just so I can write about it (yes, emotional turmoil is very cathartic where writing is concerned). Probably because my history never fails to suggest that once shit gets real, I would inevitably fail. And I can roll with all the trite and massive failures this life would throw at me… except for this. Not with him. Not us.
I used to think that knowing what I want is the challenge and getting it, the reward. Like the medal and the self-respect that comes with it after finishing a marathon. I’ve forgotten how it is to move forth from that.
One thing’s for sure: This life that I know now has already become unimaginable without him in it. And it scares the living f*ck outta me. But I’m braving through. In my own imperfect way, I’m braving through.
Baby steps, baby steps…
And my mind plays hopscotch 