I could always care less. The problem with any attempt to go through life not caring at all, is that I’ll always be tripped up by the fact that I do care. Is it a need, a want or some curious combination of the two? I take little relief from my inability to detach, be a misanthrope and yell at kids and pets that dare to venture onto my lawn. Yep, I routinely fail the asshole test. What a relief.
The reveal is often thought to be a visual experience. However, I feel like the most poignant reveals bare themselves in the quiet corners of the mind. They break into our memory stores and wait. They wait for life to tenderize us, to throw a litany of strikes that entice and undo us.
Tenderized. A hard head makes a soft ass. Yes, hmm, tenderized. The notable revealings in my life have resulted from my grudging surrender after yet another fierce battle. The revealing is tranquil in the midst of a cacophony of storms. My body anxious and tired. My spirit battered and flickering in baseless hope. My mind struggling to make sense of it all. But, the revealing comes like the morning sun and the venerable rooster. Reminding me to move, to shift my perspective, to change my mind about what I know, and to wait until the revelation rolls in.
Reliving is the devil—if you believe in that sort of thing. Whether it’s my reliving of my experiences or what I imaging the experiences of a loved one to be, it’s the devil. The devil being a figurative term to describe the pain of real and imagined memory and the slippery slope of regret. Reliving or reminiscing—if you want to make it feel better—provides space for you to edit the outcome. It’s a Choose Your Own Adventure book with real consequences. Perhaps you can convince yourself that the journey was different or the outcomes was not a red letter moment that totally fucked you up; but, what is will always be…your illusions slowly being consumed by reality and you investing so much in this battle that life and its many wonders are passing you by. Like I said, the devil—if you believe in that sort of thing.
I’d like to divest from the pain in my world. Yeah, I can handle it, but many days I just don’t wanna. The pain directs too much of my energy away from the stuff that truly matters: family, friends, beauty, wonder, curiosity, laughter, ahas, and guffaws. I mean, I am 8 episodes behind on Scandal and How to Get Away with Murder. I have 4 episodes of NCIS waiting for my eyes and I haven’t had enough of me to partner up with Gibbs and the gang to solve the latest murder. Will it always be this way? Rifling through life seeking relief. Wresting with the revealings. Running from the reliving? Lord, I don’t know. My wig is perpetually snatched and I am not Becky with the good hair. I relive Dad’s last days before his coma through my eyes and the pain is intense. This reliving is becoming less frequent, but the revealings are no less prescient. Relief comes for a second when I wake and realize that it was just a dream. A fiction and a yarn spun by my imagination. Breathe in, breathe out. It’s just me. And I’m relieved again.