Life gets all together too serious sometimes and writing about something entirely frivolous like ‘Pickles’ can’t even pick me up tonight. But invariably, I find myself needing to write. I couldn’t just drive home tonight and ended up wandering the streets until I realized I was driving unconsciously towards the comfort of the water, eventually parking next to Lake Washington .
Turning off my car, I just sat there watching the small waves lap up onto shore in a desperate attempt to escape the boundaries set in rocky sand knowing that in some small way that was how I felt… trapped, with only a little movement to splash – not enough that anyone ever really notices but enough that I can feel myself pushing against the boundaries set stonily around me and I want to crash on this shore that surrounds me and be loud and dangerous and violent… but I can’t. There’s no wind… I’ve somehow lost my wind.
It has been a day of clarity, and in many respects I wish it wasn’t so. But as there is nothing in the world as constant as change, and knowing there’s no dream to wake up from, the simple stated fact remains that nothing is quite the same as it was when I woke up this morning…
Stepping out on a limb, no matter how sturdy it looks takes either courage or stupidity or a bit of both – altogether depending on the surface of the safety net or lack thereof – and I’m feeling midway out when the branch has cracked beneath me. So, I’m caught in the middle of falling, unsure of what lies through the misty fog below completely unaware of what’s next and without the balance of holding onto anything.
You see, boxing up so much emotion for so long, you become bitter, and hard, and cynical, espeically when you don't let it outwardly show. It takes even longer to start ‘bleeding red’ after ‘bleeding black’ for so long and I’m more scared to death of turning off again incase I never get this softness back. And unfortunately, the flip side of that is when something does happen that hurts, it is easiest to fall back on what we’ve been programmed to do. But unfortunately, turning off is not an option. Not for me anyway.
I’ve finally realized, wholly, that being the afterthought in someone else’s life to which you should be the priority is never how it should be, without exception. People are always so generous with their advice and opinions, but their luxury is that they do not have to live them. Support should never come in the choice form of the supporter but the supported, otherwise it just doesn’t work. It becomes conditional, objectified, idealized… words that I hate. It’s selfish and arbitrary… hypocritical even. Acceptance is what? Really – what is it? Because depending the defining characteristics of how it is individually flayed changes the intent and meaning of this simple word.
I don’t regret any of the decisions I’ve made – they make me exactly who I am today, right here in this moment, in this red chair in a basement apartment at 1:52 A.M., and I Like me. I wish there were lessons I could have learned another way, or even not at all… I wish that I could have changed one single day and boarded a flight which would have redefined my existence – but to wish that would be to give up everything I’ve become and am now, 14 years later. That was my sliding door but to even hazard a guess erases not only who I am now, but who I will eventually become.
My pickle today is an emotional one… but its okay because every pickle eventually pares up with something be it savory or sweet, but always a delight in the end defining new tastes on the palate, exciting and new. Sometimes, it just takes a little time for the pickle to set or to cool or warm to the appropriate temperature. Sometimes, it just needs to wait for the perfect paring because it would be otherwise wasted on the mundane and never gets the opportunity to be fully perfect.
A little time and a little space… and maybe a little bit of wind. And eventually, a little taste of heaven.
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