Sunday, August 4, 2013

if only

I am nothing if not extreme. I want everyone to either leave me alone or give me their undivided attention. I want to either be single for life or have a ginormous family full of barbeques and reunions and matching polo shirts. I want to live in the middle of a desolate desert, but at the same time I want to live in the middle of populated Paris. Bare, adorned. Absent, existing. Depart, linger. My whole life is just one big "let's flip a coin."

If I only I was a little bit richer, I could blame my wishy washy-ness on privilege. If only I was a little bit more religious, I could blame my ignorance on, well, religion. But I am neither, so therefore I am selfish. I've decided. I've decided that I am in the perfect position to help/assist/educate/listen, but instead I harm/hinder/ignore/disregard. I've also apparently decided that I am undecided. My entire brain is saturated in contradictions that it's no wonder I seek some sort of security through food (or the lack thereof). It is about control, I promise.

But I also can't promise anything. I cannot promise that I will love you tomorrow or even three hours from now. I cannot promise that I will ever write anything worth reading, let alone publishing. I cannot promise what I cannot even give to myself, which is simply respect.

So how do I begin to respect myself? I welcome your responses and suggestions and ideas. I won't ask this question on Facebook because, well, Facebook kind of stinks lately.

I am nothing if not melodramatic. I want to quit this gloooooom and start being the person that I know is underneath all of this gloom. I don't know this person, though. She is a stranger who likes to hide behind potted plants and walls of steel. She is so frustrating, right?!

1 comment:

M. Olson said...

Autobiography In Five Chapters


1) I walk down the street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I fall in.
I am lost... I am hopeless.
It isn't my fault.
It takes forever to find a way out.

2) I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I pretend I don't see it.
I fall in again.
I can't believe I'm in the same place.
But it isn't my fault.
It still takes a long time to get out.

3) I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I see it is there.
I still fall in... it's a habit.
My eyes are open.
I know where I am.
It is my fault.
I get out immediately.

4) I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I walk around it.

5) I walk down another street.

Portia Nelson

From: Sogyal Rinpoche, The Tibetan Book of Living and Dying