I'm becoming a very transparent, simple person. And that scares me. I've never been the type to be so honest about my feelings and motivations. Or, at least, I always comforted myself with the idea that I'm multi-layered and multi-faceted, and that while one layer and/or facet is Honest, the others are not-as-honest. I never liked the idea of people "knowing" me, "having" me, being able to control me. I looked down on people for being so easily read, so textbook, so knowable. I relished being complicated, unruly, dark, manipulative, controlling. I loved being able to get swept away in the currents of action and reaction, and get involved with strange, illicit, dangerous people and situations - all the while always having the outcome under my thumb.
I took great pride in being able to read people, figure out their weaknesses, and exploit them for my own benefit. I based much of my self on the fact that I am a master manipulator, able to insert myself into anyones' inner circle and get from them what I want and need. My personality was as much enmeshed in the grit and grime of the Lower East Side projects as it was enthralled with the upscale, charmed lives of the Upper East Side. I made myself a part of every scene, every way of life, every way of thinking. I was well-versed in the ways of the world and prided myself on knowing people, knowing facts, knowing.
And now?
*long exhale*
Now I'm reconciling with the fact that all of that was preparation for a greater goal. I needed to see how all of the cogs fit and worked. It was necessary for me to taste all of the strains of personalities and situations. I needed to be confident that I can overcome all that life has to throw at me. That I am able and capable and worthy. That I am, in some ways, better than most people.
And now that I'm at the point where I am non-plussed by any and all situations, where nothing truly surprises me, where I can appraise, acknowledge and appreciate the subtleties as well as the extremes, I am at a loss. What the fuck was all of that for? How can I get back that zest for experience? Should I? Is it better, now that I have come down from the euphoria of sampling as much of life as possible? Now that I must stop studying life in general so that I can concentrate on my own life?
*flinch*
As much as my life up until this moment has been a preparation for "real life" to begin, it was also a severe episode of procrastination. I needed to feel as if something important were holding me back from starting the real deal, the real consequences, the real truth or dare of it all. I needed to feel as if some mysterious and ominous thing were guiding me to find solace in wayward teens and crumby adults. As if fucking up grades is just as valid and good as being a star student (both of which I excelled at). As if pretending to know the answers grants the same kind of merits as pretending to not know any of the answers. I needed to know that, despite the lameness of platitudes, most of them are right - including this: "It is what it is." That one holds true no matter what the "is" is.
Most of all, having seen all of these contrary ways of living, I learned that none is better than the rest, and that that truth is something most people don't know. There is no way of life which is best; only a way of life that is best for you.
I know this for certain because I've seen so many lives made and destroyed, so many decisions turn out for better or for worse, so many different ways to live. And as much as I love all of my experiences and all of the people I've met and all of the people I've been and all that life has to offer, I must now ask myself: What's next? And that question, that question is full of fear and anxiety and loneliness and complications. That question is so easy and yet so difficult. That question is the paradox to end all paradoxes, because I know that whatever is in store for me, I must at once succumb to it and lead my destiny towards it. I must simultaneously know the answer and be dumb to my destination. I must feel all of the pangs and highs and lows and laughter and tears and really let myself experience it because this time it's not preparation. This time, it's not a rehearsal. This time, it's not just a temporary personality or phase or stage that I'm going through.
I've come this far and I know this much: No matter how your life is, it is possible to be happy. The human condition allows for shades of emotion, defense mechanisms, contradictions, ironies, and lies. There is a way to find happiness in the most mundane, the most sinister, the most wicked and ugly stations of life. There is a glimmer of truth and beauty everywhere, and it is within these specks that joy is magnified and our lives illuminated and enriched.
Unfortunately, we are merely mortal and unable to appraise all that we encounter. We strive to discover a place within ourselves that is truly and purely lit by joy. Most people don't think this place exists, but I am certain of it. I'm done with trying out different ideas of who to be and how to be. I'm through with attempting to figure out who I am. I know who I am, and now I have to weed through the parts of my life that don't fit in with the person I've become. I must cut away the people I've amassed who know my phases but don't know my real face. I must place my bets on myself and trust that all of this was not for nought. That I know what I'm doing. That I'm working towards a great unknown which is worthy of me. That I am capable of mind-blowing, amazing, wonderful happiness.
I took great pride in being able to read people, figure out their weaknesses, and exploit them for my own benefit. I based much of my self on the fact that I am a master manipulator, able to insert myself into anyones' inner circle and get from them what I want and need. My personality was as much enmeshed in the grit and grime of the Lower East Side projects as it was enthralled with the upscale, charmed lives of the Upper East Side. I made myself a part of every scene, every way of life, every way of thinking. I was well-versed in the ways of the world and prided myself on knowing people, knowing facts, knowing.
And now?
*long exhale*
Now I'm reconciling with the fact that all of that was preparation for a greater goal. I needed to see how all of the cogs fit and worked. It was necessary for me to taste all of the strains of personalities and situations. I needed to be confident that I can overcome all that life has to throw at me. That I am able and capable and worthy. That I am, in some ways, better than most people.
And now that I'm at the point where I am non-plussed by any and all situations, where nothing truly surprises me, where I can appraise, acknowledge and appreciate the subtleties as well as the extremes, I am at a loss. What the fuck was all of that for? How can I get back that zest for experience? Should I? Is it better, now that I have come down from the euphoria of sampling as much of life as possible? Now that I must stop studying life in general so that I can concentrate on my own life?
*flinch*
As much as my life up until this moment has been a preparation for "real life" to begin, it was also a severe episode of procrastination. I needed to feel as if something important were holding me back from starting the real deal, the real consequences, the real truth or dare of it all. I needed to feel as if some mysterious and ominous thing were guiding me to find solace in wayward teens and crumby adults. As if fucking up grades is just as valid and good as being a star student (both of which I excelled at). As if pretending to know the answers grants the same kind of merits as pretending to not know any of the answers. I needed to know that, despite the lameness of platitudes, most of them are right - including this: "It is what it is." That one holds true no matter what the "is" is.
Most of all, having seen all of these contrary ways of living, I learned that none is better than the rest, and that that truth is something most people don't know. There is no way of life which is best; only a way of life that is best for you.
I know this for certain because I've seen so many lives made and destroyed, so many decisions turn out for better or for worse, so many different ways to live. And as much as I love all of my experiences and all of the people I've met and all of the people I've been and all that life has to offer, I must now ask myself: What's next? And that question, that question is full of fear and anxiety and loneliness and complications. That question is so easy and yet so difficult. That question is the paradox to end all paradoxes, because I know that whatever is in store for me, I must at once succumb to it and lead my destiny towards it. I must simultaneously know the answer and be dumb to my destination. I must feel all of the pangs and highs and lows and laughter and tears and really let myself experience it because this time it's not preparation. This time, it's not a rehearsal. This time, it's not just a temporary personality or phase or stage that I'm going through.
I've come this far and I know this much: No matter how your life is, it is possible to be happy. The human condition allows for shades of emotion, defense mechanisms, contradictions, ironies, and lies. There is a way to find happiness in the most mundane, the most sinister, the most wicked and ugly stations of life. There is a glimmer of truth and beauty everywhere, and it is within these specks that joy is magnified and our lives illuminated and enriched.
Unfortunately, we are merely mortal and unable to appraise all that we encounter. We strive to discover a place within ourselves that is truly and purely lit by joy. Most people don't think this place exists, but I am certain of it. I'm done with trying out different ideas of who to be and how to be. I'm through with attempting to figure out who I am. I know who I am, and now I have to weed through the parts of my life that don't fit in with the person I've become. I must cut away the people I've amassed who know my phases but don't know my real face. I must place my bets on myself and trust that all of this was not for nought. That I know what I'm doing. That I'm working towards a great unknown which is worthy of me. That I am capable of mind-blowing, amazing, wonderful happiness.
*****
I'm broke and without a day job and not making much money from my night job. I haven't paid my credit card bills in months. My credit is shit. My love life is non-existent. I have reached a point in my life where I really and truly must be in a loving, respectful and committed relationship in order to have sex with someone. The people with whom I spend the most time - my coworkers at my night job - are the only people in my everyday life with whom I can't/won't be my true self. There is still much I must do in order to receive my bachelor's degree. And there are letters I must write to apologize to people, to let them know my side of the story, to show them that I would like my memory to elicit happy thoughts in their minds. There is so much for me to do.
And yet, despite the fact that all of the black-and-white would dictate that I am unhappy, discontented with my reality, and lacking self-reliance or self-determination, that couldn't be farther from the truth. This is my reality. The one that I carved for myself. The one whose details I painstakingly distressed over. The one I want. These are the problems I'd rather have. These are the latent joys that I plan on uncovering.
I'm just working it out. In my mind. To myself. Without disclosing much of anything to anyone. While being a good friend and sister and daughter. While being the best person I've ever been. While putting people first and not resenting anyone for having to be put first. While letting others do some self-actualizing without trying to exert control over who they become.
This is the progress that I've made.
No comments:
Post a Comment