I've have had a pit in my stomach for awhile. It sits there... some days quiet... some days loud and nagging. Today it is yelling in my ear... "J’aurai toujours faim de toi"
It used to be that the decisions to be made were blacker. And whiter. You wrote them down and balanced the pros and the cons and the path suddenly appeared... like a lighted walkway, suddenly appearing in the dark. But perhaps the comic gods of fate have decided to mix things up a bit and make the pros and the cons equally wonderful... or equally horrible. The win wins have been replaced by lose loses.
And when I talk to people, I see them facing their own rock and hard place situations. And my heart hurts. For them. For me. But inevitably I manage to feel optimism for those other people. I know that things will turn for them. That situations that seem unwinnable from this vantage will shift and change and take on a different light when you move down the road a bit. I encourage them to meet their demons. And tell them that it will be alright.
But I can't quite convince myself of the same thing. Why is that? Why is that we are better about helping others over obstacles than we are at climbing them ourselves. I say "we" because I want your company even thought it haunts me. I say "we" because I don't want to admit that I can't get my legs to work just now. Because it is easier to push you ahead and tell you to face your own demons than it is to admit that I am scared.
The fears of childhood... the bogeymen that wait in the closets... are transformed from the imaginary and into full bodied horrors that we call regret. The worst rock and hard place decisions are ones that leave a trail of regret regardless of the decision that you make. Either decision by itself can bring joy. But choosing one over the other causes the color of both to fade. Moving one way... leaves behind the wraith of what could have been which sucks the soul out of the path taken.
I seek no sympathy. Since this is my path. I don't seek advice. Because having dispensed much in my time, I know that words aren't the answer. I can't even wish for company, because it is better simply to find my way alone. But the pit started the day I willed my legs to move. Even though it tore my whole being down the middle. It is grayer now than it was. Both in front of me and behind me. But if I keep moving perhaps, eventually, I will find the sun again.
On Becoming My Grandmother
4 months ago