I realize it's been a long time since I had breathing space, time to just sit and be still. There have been moments; pale, fleeting moments where I believed that this time, yes, this time, I'd find my narrative, I'd piece together all of the random events of my life and build a new story out of them. A story with a purpose, a message--a story that gave me hope for everything that had been, and everything that would be.
It's that--that reflection--that you miss when you're trying so hard to function in the adult world, to be strong for other people, to safeguard yourself from pain--our pain and the pain we inflict on others--and that's a tough thing, because it's that quiet space, those still moments, when you remember how to live.
I've gotten suckered into a dreadful system the last twenty-four years of my life, a system that ensures I have a steady paycheck and a lazy mind, and every step of the way, every sunny morning, I've told myself not to get too content, too complacent. I knew that the moment I was truly happy, I'd lose everything because I'd lose the edge.
I have been happy here, and there are things I'm very happy with now, but I've learned that we're not here to be happy, or maybe that we're not here to experience long, uninterrupted spells of happiness. Just as peace is merely the time between wars, happiness feels like it's the time between woe, tragedy, sacrifice, despair and complacency. It's longing for those moments of absolute happiness that keep you going through the worst of it; the dark nights, the boring days.
I spent a week in upper Minnesota after I graduated with my Masters from the U of M. I packed up a backpack and stayed in a cabin along a lakefront and watched the rain come in and the boats go by. I spent my money on bad food and worse entertainment. I took historic house tours, hiked trails and paddled kayaks. I ate a mediocre meal at a terribly overpriced restaurant. I ordered a lot of alcohol. I went to museums. I slept in. I watched the rain. I was alone. There were moments of happiness, and moments of depression and despair. Here I was in one of the most picturesque areas I'd ever witnessed, and it was just me, and I was spending most of it sleeping. Why was that? Fear? Depression? Anxiety? Or just a tired soul seeking peace.
I have lived and breathed and shit the need for security for so long that there are some days I don't know how I would function without it. There's no time to be happy in my secure little world when I'm always looking on and out, toward the next mountain, back at the hill I didn't climb, the trail I didn't ski, the sea I didn't sail, the path I didn't take, the road I should have gone down.
This month, I was supposed to find a job in Austin. And yet here I sit in Chateau Chicago in my perfect condo, my comfortable room, this space I've carved out for myself in a city so far from where I've come. I am still here because there is happiness and prosperity in it. Some days. Most days. Then there are days like today--where I just wanted to crawl into a cave and say f*ck it all.
There are no mountains to climb here, no skiing and all the paths are tired and worn with my having traversed them. This was supposed to be a pit stop for me and my ex. This is not going to be the rest of my life, damn it! I have dreams of sailing the world's oceans--with a man of my dreams--a dream lover--dreamily coexisting--days of nude sunbathing, swimming and fishing (nude fishing...hmmm...look out for those miscast hooks)--nights of passion unbridled--weeks of sailing without seeing land and all the while losing all sense of time.
I've been happy here in Chicago. At times. Sometimes. A few times.
I'm not a fool. I realize the one thing you can never escape when you run off to new cities, new countries, new continents, is yourself. It's why I try so hard to be the best person I can be, to never be satisfied with what I am, but strive toward who I could be. Sometimes I wonder if that's dangerous. If I'm too hard on myself. And then I'm afraid of what I'll become if I don't push myself, if I don't want more, better, everything, the world.
Because I've seen who I can be when I just let myself be.
I think I'm all right with never being content. I'll be satiated waiting for those absolute brilliant moments of happiness, those shining moments between the long stretches of complacency.
I think that will be enough for me--maybe, but maybe not.
