A new day, a new world or so they say.
It is becoming increasingly impossible to access the corner of my brain that analyses and recognizes the depth of social interaction, the fact that human beings are social animals. Why such an impossible distinction, even if one is to agree that we - like our fraternity in the animal kingdom - are in want of social interaction and interdependence, who is to assume that we cannot make it on our own should the need to do so present itself?
After all, there are several animals that survive, indeed thrive, on their solitude.
Then again there are times when the overwhelming desire for human contact eclipses all solitary comforts. Maybe the soaps do have one thing going for them, their intermittent dependence on the one universal story line…human beings ‘need’ conflict. We were not built to sustain comfort in liberal doses. Being content is the ideal we aspire to, through the means of overcoming conflict and largely overlooking the fact that by proxy our lives depend on the former and effectively end with the latter.
I have never really had conventional goals or conventional means to attain them. For the longest time, 11 years to be exact my ‘ultimate aim’ was to escape, be safe and start over. I have –in some manner or the other- done each and now I am at a loss as to what I want from the rest of my life. The ‘conflict question’ in this particular case presents itself in the all-encompassing lack of overt conflict. At least not the tangible kind, I often have a hard time believing that I crave normal emotions like anger and envy, but I do. It is a terrible feeling being inordinately incapable of feeling things on the surface and to a very large extent beneath it as well. Yes, there are problems and I generally observe these same problems disgruntle, disgust, depress and demoralize those around me…but I fade through them with ease. I thrive on my ability to compartmentalize problems and relationships in the context of a past so littered with pitfalls that it usually makes bitching and moaning -indeed reacting- to a rejection letter, a crush or a catty comment seem silly. How foolish would I be if I managed to survive Hell on earth without so much as a peep and now ended up ranting over prevailing college crises and failed relationships? The thing is, it is supposed to be silly and messy and emotional…but that doesn’t mean it isn’t supposed to ‘be’.
In effect I believe I am asking for the ability to feel pain again. Which -to many- may seem weird, but in fact is a blessing. Feeling pain, and subsequently all the subsidiary emotions that go along with it…allows us to feel everything else. The past month has brought with it some very uncomfortable realizations and I do not know if they are built on solid ground, paranoia or again, my need to create conflict and then camouflage it so that I can have something to keep my mind and self preoccupied enough to escape emotions.
I am loved by many and I am overpoweringly, earth shatteringly, shamefully, gratefully and constantly aware of this fact. I have never been prone to the notion that I deserve such emotions directed towards my person, and much as I seek them out in the form of an odious tendency to say exactly what people want to hear to appear amiable or hide in corners to avoid lying about things I know I cant agree with, guilt remains the overriding emotion at play. Such twisted gratitude raises its own fringe phobias, when there are no battles to be fought to solicit attention, it becomes hard to compartmentalize ones reactions. The overriding guilt perhaps is the vicious cycle of knowing that people seem to treat me as ‘extra-special’…yes, I do realize this is an odd thing to complain about. But when the constant underlining to my days, these days, is feeling a lot like little orphan Annie, who everyone feels obligated to adopt, the guilt really does kick in. I am grateful and gutted by the same notion. And I can’t quite pin point if I manipulate my position, hide from it or exploit it. In all likelihood it is probably a complex combination of all three.
It is a shame: I profess -a little too vehemently to be sincere- to appreciate the finer details in life. The weather, music, colors and fragrances…but I can’t for the life of me appreciate relationships and human contact. Which – they say – make it all worth while. I cannot claim in all honesty that I am content ‘just’ being an artist, dreaming of perfection and never working to attain it because I know it will shatter the myth. And I would much rather have the myth than the maze. Loving people requires telling them the truth and I am too much of a coward to ever be able to do that in the spirit it requires. It means telling those you love when you are pissed off at them and when you feel wronged, without anticipating a reaction or planning your account based on the expected response from their end.
One can’t really do that when you’re consistently more grateful than you are gutful.
Were we to map our lives through myths and mazes would we really have any choices?
Mazes offer structure and stagnation, but in that premise they also provide solace.
Myths offer magic and no means to attain it in the frame of reality.
Even for those as deluded as I, reality does hit and when it does
A messed up maze probably provides more security than a mirage myth.
It is becoming increasingly impossible to access the corner of my brain that analyses and recognizes the depth of social interaction, the fact that human beings are social animals. Why such an impossible distinction, even if one is to agree that we - like our fraternity in the animal kingdom - are in want of social interaction and interdependence, who is to assume that we cannot make it on our own should the need to do so present itself?
After all, there are several animals that survive, indeed thrive, on their solitude.
Then again there are times when the overwhelming desire for human contact eclipses all solitary comforts. Maybe the soaps do have one thing going for them, their intermittent dependence on the one universal story line…human beings ‘need’ conflict. We were not built to sustain comfort in liberal doses. Being content is the ideal we aspire to, through the means of overcoming conflict and largely overlooking the fact that by proxy our lives depend on the former and effectively end with the latter.
I have never really had conventional goals or conventional means to attain them. For the longest time, 11 years to be exact my ‘ultimate aim’ was to escape, be safe and start over. I have –in some manner or the other- done each and now I am at a loss as to what I want from the rest of my life. The ‘conflict question’ in this particular case presents itself in the all-encompassing lack of overt conflict. At least not the tangible kind, I often have a hard time believing that I crave normal emotions like anger and envy, but I do. It is a terrible feeling being inordinately incapable of feeling things on the surface and to a very large extent beneath it as well. Yes, there are problems and I generally observe these same problems disgruntle, disgust, depress and demoralize those around me…but I fade through them with ease. I thrive on my ability to compartmentalize problems and relationships in the context of a past so littered with pitfalls that it usually makes bitching and moaning -indeed reacting- to a rejection letter, a crush or a catty comment seem silly. How foolish would I be if I managed to survive Hell on earth without so much as a peep and now ended up ranting over prevailing college crises and failed relationships? The thing is, it is supposed to be silly and messy and emotional…but that doesn’t mean it isn’t supposed to ‘be’.
In effect I believe I am asking for the ability to feel pain again. Which -to many- may seem weird, but in fact is a blessing. Feeling pain, and subsequently all the subsidiary emotions that go along with it…allows us to feel everything else. The past month has brought with it some very uncomfortable realizations and I do not know if they are built on solid ground, paranoia or again, my need to create conflict and then camouflage it so that I can have something to keep my mind and self preoccupied enough to escape emotions.
I am loved by many and I am overpoweringly, earth shatteringly, shamefully, gratefully and constantly aware of this fact. I have never been prone to the notion that I deserve such emotions directed towards my person, and much as I seek them out in the form of an odious tendency to say exactly what people want to hear to appear amiable or hide in corners to avoid lying about things I know I cant agree with, guilt remains the overriding emotion at play. Such twisted gratitude raises its own fringe phobias, when there are no battles to be fought to solicit attention, it becomes hard to compartmentalize ones reactions. The overriding guilt perhaps is the vicious cycle of knowing that people seem to treat me as ‘extra-special’…yes, I do realize this is an odd thing to complain about. But when the constant underlining to my days, these days, is feeling a lot like little orphan Annie, who everyone feels obligated to adopt, the guilt really does kick in. I am grateful and gutted by the same notion. And I can’t quite pin point if I manipulate my position, hide from it or exploit it. In all likelihood it is probably a complex combination of all three.
It is a shame: I profess -a little too vehemently to be sincere- to appreciate the finer details in life. The weather, music, colors and fragrances…but I can’t for the life of me appreciate relationships and human contact. Which – they say – make it all worth while. I cannot claim in all honesty that I am content ‘just’ being an artist, dreaming of perfection and never working to attain it because I know it will shatter the myth. And I would much rather have the myth than the maze. Loving people requires telling them the truth and I am too much of a coward to ever be able to do that in the spirit it requires. It means telling those you love when you are pissed off at them and when you feel wronged, without anticipating a reaction or planning your account based on the expected response from their end.
One can’t really do that when you’re consistently more grateful than you are gutful.
Were we to map our lives through myths and mazes would we really have any choices?
Mazes offer structure and stagnation, but in that premise they also provide solace.
Myths offer magic and no means to attain it in the frame of reality.
Even for those as deluded as I, reality does hit and when it does
A messed up maze probably provides more security than a mirage myth.
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