When I am upset, particularly when I am sad, I don’t let myself feel it. Not really. I dress it up in sarcasm or wit and crack wise. I shrug and say, ‘whatever.’ I sigh a lot and try to forget about it. Sometimes it works. Usually it doesn’t. I don’t know what it is about this need to hide the feelings, especially from myself. Maybe I’m afraid of confronting what I did to deserve whatever heartache I’m experiencing. No…scratch that…rather I get into an endless loop of trying to discover what I did to deserve it. Very frustrating, that. Because the truth is sometimes things just happen. I fundamentally reject this reality because—I don’t know why to tell you the truth – but I do reject it. Even though there is truth in it. The universe is not mine and mine alone. I do not control everything that happens here – in fact, the percentage of what I do control in this world would challenge the best mathematician in discerning the correct fractional amount of control that I have.
Still, the burning desire to know. To have some control over what does and does not hurt me. What does and does not affect me never leaves me. Maybe because I’m a fixer. Middle child, don’t you know. I guess that automatically makes me want to fix everything. To mediate dissention. To be the can’t we all just get along poster child in life.
I envy those who can feel what they feel when they feel it and then move on. Those who can let go and move to the next adventure. Where trouble and woe rolls off their backs and they hit the ground running at warp speed, surely heading for another disaster, but with insoucciance and humor. How do they do that? I really want to know.
Despite my feeling of little to no control I make myself take risks. Scary as they may be I know that without risk you get nothing and go nowhere. But oh how it can bite you in the ass when you least expect it. And oh how I can later regret it. My prudent side lectures me on how I should have thought it out first. How I should have planned and covered my ass before leaping into a pool of hungry aligators. And to tell you the truth she really pisses me off. The big-sissy-know- it-all. Second guessing is futile because, well shit, it’s over. Shoulda, woulda, coulda makes no difference, unless you’re reworking the plotline in your novel. You really can’t rewrite life, no matter how much you may want to.
So, I continue to seek out the secrets of the universe, particularly those that can educate me in how to accept things as they are. The ones that enable me to move on, despite disappointment and troubles. I do manage to hobble along one way or the other, I try not to feel sorry for myself or even to regret things thatare in the past. Still…that wondering part of me will always want to know why???? Maybe it’s just part of who I am and it will always be there. Or maybe while walking down the beach one day, the answer to the whys and wherefores will come bobbing along the shore, safely ensconced in a bottle with my name on it. If so, I look forward to that particular walk. If not, I guess I’ll just keep hobbling.