Conversations with friends.
A friend told me something today. Excuse me for paraphrasing but in essence, she said “If you feel so different about this, then you hold onto it until you KNOW it’s not worth it anymore”. I don’t know what hit me so hard about her words, but immediately I became a crying mess at my work desk and my well applied eyeliner started pooling up in the corners of my eyes. The good news is, I always end up looking like a wild animal, no matter the day or the mood I’m in, so I think I am pretty well concealed in my quiet tantrum-throwing. Some days are just hard.
We all fight. We struggle and kick and throw our expensive phones at walls and break them into a million pieces. We stomp around and stub our toes. We argue over who left dishes in the sink, we fight about who gets to choose the movie for the night. Sometimes we war over justice, or a movement that we don’t really understand but have to be a part of or we’ll look like we’re uncaring.
We hold onto grudges, we hold hands, we hold onto dreams and ideals and pave paths covered in pretty moss and lilies. We hold onto love and hold onto defeat. We are the clingiest species alive.
But what do we really fight for? And when does fighting for something cross the line and then become stubbornness? If I can grasp the concept of hope versus wishful thinking, I think I can get a grip on what, when, where and how to fight for what I want, believe in or feel is right. Right? Right?! And is holding onto something fighting? Maybe that’s considered entrapment, or stalking, for that matter. How long do you hold on? How long do you fight?
See the pattern here; it all comes down to answers that I don’t think I have in my library of knowledge. So where do we start? Where do I start, that’s the real question, because if I don’t know where I’m starting, I sure as hell can’t help you all figure out your life’s destination. Sorry.
When I picture the fight, for life, for whatever, I automatically lend myself images from Rome. Spear at the ready, I am bound in leather and metal and feathered up like a proud peacock. With a throaty yell, I leap forward, tiny skirt billowing out, chest glistening with the sweat of previous battles. I am solid in form, and unwavering. My eyes are focused. This is the end all struggle, and I came here to conquer. This…is…SPARTA!
I am ridiculous, but it’s wonderful.
I know. I tend to go over the top. Go hard or go home, run at that wall until you run right through it. Walk away bleeding, because at least you know then that you made a true, nitty-gritty effort. Come home with scars and bruises and broken bones. This is how I do it, but maybe I’m doing it all wrong.
What frustrates me about the fight, is when you are in it alone. Sometimes, it’s necessary, but damn, is it ever lonely. And that’s why I fight so hard, and will all my strength, even when there is no one to motivate me. My motivation is what I am fighting for. Lucky for me I have a lot of friends who help me decipher between what is worth fighting for, and when I should lay down my sword and shield.
Right now, the whispered words are “Do not give up”. They are ringing true.
I can’t stop. I’d rather fight than lay down and die. I’d rather hold onto what I believe is right until I find that it is not right anymore; and if it turns out I was wrong all along, I would rather be able to look back and say that it was not a missed opportunity, because I took it. Failed opportunities do not equal ultimate failure.
As always, I will remind you that I am not only a doctor, but a great philosopher, and am quite sure of my words.
So here I am, holding on to mercy. If mercy is a balloon that’s floating away, I am the child with her legs wrapped around a tree branch, clutching to the string.
Thursday, January 12, 2012
Wednesday, January 11, 2012
Up, Up and Away
I’ve been meaning to write something about the New Year for, well, about two weeks now. I started a rough draft, and in my typical rambling fashion, it involved a lot of analogies and bubbles and frill about how far I’ve come since “this time last year”. The absolute truth is, I have, but I don’t shout this in a bragging fashion. I fell directly onto my face more times than I can recall in 2011. Well, the truth is, I can recall but I don’t think it’s necessary to rehash all my failed moments and shortcomings; after all, it is a new year. So let’s get down to the point of this all: yeah, it’s a new year, but I am not an entirely new person. I’ve grown and I’ve changed and I’ve learned, but I am still me. The same heart beats in my chest, the same thoughts run through my same brain and I am still stubborn as an angry old mule and hot-headed and vivacious and loud and funnier than most people I know. My hair has changed color, but I am not altogether that much different in regards to my soul.
I asked myself why I couldn’t start writing this two weeks ago. I talk to myself frequently and openly, with unabashed frankness and lack of embarrassment, for the few that don’t understand me yet. I just couldn’t put down lies. I feel that every word I typed out was stained with falseness. With manipulation and a fighting attempt to convince myself that everything was illuminated in my life, I know I could write down that I this year I rode in the rodeo or that I made a huge sum of cash knitting doilies for tables and no one would know the difference. I could say that my heart was light and my mind was clear and that I had discovered a way to stop interrupting and started eating only carrots. I could knit a tale that would astound. But…I didn’t. Truth is (and I think that’s the most important phrase that I could ever employ), sometimes I am still a mess.
It’s been a rough go so far this year, but not lacking in promises of a better future. Last year I learned how stubborn I can be, and how viciously my words cut. I made a truckload of bad decisions, intermixed with a lot of whiskey and cigarettes and sleepless nights. Maybe I should have tried harder, worked out more, gone to church and invested in a more reliable source of entertainment and distraction. Maybe I should have spent more time with friends and family and on bettering myself, but for whatever reason, most of those good things I could have done fell by the wayside.
I fell in love, and hell, that was the most unexpected adventure of 2011. It was like anticipating getting on the Ferris wheel and having a nice slow ride, and ending up strapped to a rollercoaster (upside down). A really fun, amazing rollercoaster that I would have never expected to end up loving. Does that work as an analogy, folks? Because it’s the best I could come up with. I’m not going to write a lot about this, because it wasn’t and isn’t some torrid affair, some cheap and tawdry adventure. It runs true and deep to this moment, and my hopes are high that at some point again this year, I’ll get to climb aboard again on that very same ride. You know who you are, and you’ll probably never read this, but you are close to my heart and always in my thoughts. I refuse to, and here’s my stubbornness making an appearance, believe that you are temporary.
I said hope, just a few seconds ago. Besides telling the truth about things, the other main focus this year has been on “hope”. Already it’s what I cling to and pray about and keep active in my being. To me, being hopeful is not being wishful. Being hopeful does not mean setting yourself up for failure or disappointment. Wishfulness is wistful and a flight of fancy that I don’t have time to include in my daily activities. Being wishful is hope minus effort. Being wishful is hoping things will change unexpectedly and for the better without any energy. Being wishful is a letdown. Instead I hope, and have hopefulness in everything. I have faith in my abilities and the abilities of others around me. I have starting building up my positivity, because if I don’t do anything else this year, I want to actually be a better me. It may sound cliché, but it’s very sincere on this end. I don’t just want to grow from mistakes, I want to expand my boundaries and challenge myself. My heart is open.
So hello 2012. So far, so good? I don’t think that’s entirely appropriate, but so far, so interesting, if I can coin a new phrase. I’ll cheers to waking up every day, the same crazy hair, a car that may need replacing but still chugs through like champ. Cheers to new beginnings and rekindling sparks and lives that will be intertwined this year. Here’s to the unexpected.
I asked myself why I couldn’t start writing this two weeks ago. I talk to myself frequently and openly, with unabashed frankness and lack of embarrassment, for the few that don’t understand me yet. I just couldn’t put down lies. I feel that every word I typed out was stained with falseness. With manipulation and a fighting attempt to convince myself that everything was illuminated in my life, I know I could write down that I this year I rode in the rodeo or that I made a huge sum of cash knitting doilies for tables and no one would know the difference. I could say that my heart was light and my mind was clear and that I had discovered a way to stop interrupting and started eating only carrots. I could knit a tale that would astound. But…I didn’t. Truth is (and I think that’s the most important phrase that I could ever employ), sometimes I am still a mess.
It’s been a rough go so far this year, but not lacking in promises of a better future. Last year I learned how stubborn I can be, and how viciously my words cut. I made a truckload of bad decisions, intermixed with a lot of whiskey and cigarettes and sleepless nights. Maybe I should have tried harder, worked out more, gone to church and invested in a more reliable source of entertainment and distraction. Maybe I should have spent more time with friends and family and on bettering myself, but for whatever reason, most of those good things I could have done fell by the wayside.
I fell in love, and hell, that was the most unexpected adventure of 2011. It was like anticipating getting on the Ferris wheel and having a nice slow ride, and ending up strapped to a rollercoaster (upside down). A really fun, amazing rollercoaster that I would have never expected to end up loving. Does that work as an analogy, folks? Because it’s the best I could come up with. I’m not going to write a lot about this, because it wasn’t and isn’t some torrid affair, some cheap and tawdry adventure. It runs true and deep to this moment, and my hopes are high that at some point again this year, I’ll get to climb aboard again on that very same ride. You know who you are, and you’ll probably never read this, but you are close to my heart and always in my thoughts. I refuse to, and here’s my stubbornness making an appearance, believe that you are temporary.
I said hope, just a few seconds ago. Besides telling the truth about things, the other main focus this year has been on “hope”. Already it’s what I cling to and pray about and keep active in my being. To me, being hopeful is not being wishful. Being hopeful does not mean setting yourself up for failure or disappointment. Wishfulness is wistful and a flight of fancy that I don’t have time to include in my daily activities. Being wishful is hope minus effort. Being wishful is hoping things will change unexpectedly and for the better without any energy. Being wishful is a letdown. Instead I hope, and have hopefulness in everything. I have faith in my abilities and the abilities of others around me. I have starting building up my positivity, because if I don’t do anything else this year, I want to actually be a better me. It may sound cliché, but it’s very sincere on this end. I don’t just want to grow from mistakes, I want to expand my boundaries and challenge myself. My heart is open.
So hello 2012. So far, so good? I don’t think that’s entirely appropriate, but so far, so interesting, if I can coin a new phrase. I’ll cheers to waking up every day, the same crazy hair, a car that may need replacing but still chugs through like champ. Cheers to new beginnings and rekindling sparks and lives that will be intertwined this year. Here’s to the unexpected.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)