I think perhaps I’ll be forever at some crossroad. Have you ever noticed that just when you think that everything is just about as perfect as it can be, that the world is all sunshine and roses, unicorns and fairy dust, something comes along to set you on your ass?
Without getting into it too much, it seems I’ve again reached that point in my life.
For the last several months, I’ve been doing my damndest to take the advice of one of my best friends. “Wait,” he says. “Just wait and enjoy what you have.”
I’ve waited. I’ve been patient. I’ve taken each day that I can manage and accepted it for what it is and attempted to enjoy the hell out of it. I’ve had my ups and I’ve had my downs. I’ve done everything in my power to set aside the part of myself that wants, and aches, and needs, and simply cannot fathom waiting for something that seems so majorly important to me.
I’ve agonized, and analyzed and philosophized. I’ve bent like a sapling in the wind and rejoiced when the sun warmed my soul. I’ve learned where my boundaries lay and how much I am willing to let go of myself for the good of others. I have found that my ability to care more about others is greater than I have ever realized.
I have learned so many things about myself. I have uncovered secrets I have consciously and unconsciously buried for beyond time. I have uncovered hurts and aches and cancers in my soul and have tried to eradicate them, cure them and cure myself. I have fought with myself and I have fought with others. I can acknowledge the fact that as all fights are generally wont to go, mostly there are no winners.
I’ve celebrated life and love; I’ve reveled in special moments and intense feelings of beauty and serenity and happiness. I’ve told myself that I am capable of being the person I wish to be, the amazingly serene, happy, content femme that lives inside my mind.
Is there anything worse than lying to oneself?
Have I lied to myself or have I simply failed to take into account my inherent nature? I am a powder keg in a world of smokers, a beltless rollercoaster on a broken track of feelings and scabs and loves and hurts. I am one tough chick who can be hurt by a word, a look, a misunderstanding.
I am so much more than what everyone sees, I am so much less than what I wish to be.
There are so few things in this world that I actively want, that I ache for and crave. There are fleeting wants and likes and wishes that would be so lovely to have but are merely just ‘things’ and are, in reality, rather unimportant. So many things I can let go and do without … and yet … I have an ache, a need, a craving that I, myself, am incapable of satisfying.
The wanting and the craving and the knowledge that I am in no way in control is beyond frustrating.
The things I have no control over bother me greatly. I have learnt that the times in my life over which I have no control are generally those times that propagate the sad, the awful, and yes, the evil. I have endured things that were easier to bury inside the dark recesses of my mind than they were to deal with.
The circumstances of my life have waged war on my subconscious. The foul, dank, dusty trunk in the corner has had the lid lifted and the penguins have escaped. Once content to live together in their sheltered prison, the unruly penguins have been released from captivity and have gleefully wrecked havoc on my tidy mental faculties.
And yet I deal. I raise my face to the sun and rejoice in the warmth shining on my upturned face. I wake to the most spectacular sunrises and bless my life for the beauty and the love and the ability to appreciate them.
I have cried out as the bitter cold of reality has doused me with icy fingers snaking a path down my naked soul. I have rebelled, and railed against the wind, and mentally capitulated and accepted. I have endured and I will endure.
But I loathe the dealing with things better left buried, regardless of the freedom it now provides me. I chafe at the knowledge that I am not able to be in control of the thing I want most in this world and I begin to doubt my ability to endure.
I am at a crossroads where I can chuck it all and begin again or I can try harder, try again, try, try, try. I can attempt to search for that which I feel I need or I can learn to accept, to be, to enjoy and to let someone or something other than myself take control.
I can chase the penguins back to their box or I can revel at their freedom and rejoice in their unrestricted antics.
I can waffle and procrastinate and put off that which drives me to distraction, drives me to a decision – a decision possibly best left undecided. I can mentally choose to not choose, or I can make what may be the worst mistake of my life.
I am not a waffler or a procrastinator. I am a doer and a leaper and a scared little girl willing to take on the world and fight for it all.
I am the epitome of oxymoronic … leaning heavily on the ‘moronic’.
I am at a crossroads and I have no control. The logging truck will be barreling down one of the roads, and I will have my face turned to the sun in abject delight as I crash.
I will not be unlived, or undecided, or unloved. I may grieve or I may rejoice.
I am at a crossroads and I am terrified. But in my terror, I will endure.