December 22, 2009

  • inferior.

    For the first time since it ended, for the first time since it all changed, I think I get it. I think I see the bigger picture and I think I understand why life turned the way it did. I can't pretend to understand it all or even to be completely content with everything, but something clicked tonight. I saw something; an old something, that normally eats me up and spits me out with ease, but it didn't do that this time. It made me smile; I laughed at a silly memory and a gentle spirit that held my heart together for many long nights and even longer weeks and months. I let a tiny piece of myself dip into that easy stream of consciousness where it flows like everything did, as if some odd bliss was injected in my midnight snack. This is a revelation, and there's so much more to say that I wouldn't dare let out of my brain and onto this public forum where the world can judge me at their leisure.

    So many times on here I have expressed varying sentiments of hope, joy, love, hate, anger, frustration, and brokenness. If you want to understand who I am, find the first entry on here from over 5 years ago, and read until today. I'm not sure even I could explain myself better with my own words today than this journal could. It pre-dates my haircut and contains so many firsts and lasts that I would never dare to try and count them. In many ways it has become something larger than life because for so many people it exists entirely outside of their knowledge of who I am and where I've been (because rather conveniently, who I am hates who I've been). It's like a Little Mermaid song of memories. Broken promises? Yeah, I've got those. Love poems? There's a few. Tales of love built and broken? You'll find plenty. Even then, I've got more. (You can try to sing that to the tune of that Little Mermaid song... it sorta works). But finding myself making a roundabout point, there's a simple thing that all of my various recollections have in common. They are all complete and total honesty. I don't pull punches and I don't back down. If it's not appropriate to be on here, it isn't. But if I need to say something, who are you to tell me not to? This is my place of refuge, not yours, and if you don't like what I write, don't read it.

    I penned a thought a few years back about the beauty of the breakdown. Basically, you can't reach the mountaintop if you don't pass through the valley first. And when you're on the mountaintop, you can see the valley far below you, and it doesn't really seem that bad anymore. Sure, you acknowledge the legitimacy of your struggles, but you don't let the memories from difficult times overcome the peace you've achieved. Smile at the good times, cry a little in memory of the bad times, but then let it all go.

    I once confided in a friend of mine about a hardship, and he said something to me that has stuck with me to this day and will stay with me for the rest of my life. He said "Ben, I know exactly how you feel, and I also know how completely and utterly useless it is to hear those words." It's the truth; when someone says "I know how you feel," it does nothing. It is up to you to eventually find your way out of the valley. Sure, the true friends will be with you, guiding you in the right direction and making sacrifices to keep your head up. Friends you thought you could trust will sometimes mysteriously disappear when you need them and act as if their own struggles trump your own. It is impossible to describe the breakdown without being there; it's like a first kiss or your own death; you can hear about it, read about it, study it, and learn from it, but until you experience it, you know nothing.

    So what is my point? There's a famous (and disgustingly trite) song called "I Hope You Dance," and despite the fact that it's a miserable song that I can't force myself to endure from beginning to end, the simplicity of the title does an effective job of expressing my sentiment tonight. Live, love, hate, kiss, cry, take it all in. Because, trust me, in the end, it's all worth it. That night you had a final at 8 AM and you decided to sneak over to a friend's house to watch Bring It On and eat seven bags of popcorn? Worth it. That mosh pit you dove into even though the last one resulted in a knee to the nuts? So worth it. That risk you took asking the beautiful girl across the room to dance? Worth the fear.

    I didn't mention my faith throughout this post, and for a specific reason. Some have asked me before; why don't you mention God more often in your writing? It seems to be such a big part of your life. My answer is simply this. Just as He presents Himself, I am subtle in my weaving of faith, as it is so omnipresent that were I to give it the fair share of words, there would be no room for anything else. Do you really think I'd be out of the valley without faith? Absolutely not. Heck, for those loyal readers who have been there from the beginning, you understand I see my life today as a product of a faith and a God who saved me when I probably should have moved along. I am very, very slowly learning the hardest concept in the world; trust myself not to trust myself. Trust myself to hold true to the commitment that my life is not my own but merely an extension of my origin and a beauty that surpasses the most complex measurements and bland science that calls itself groundbreaking but is really just humanity floundering to find answers we are not meant to access. Government, politics, even religion are all irrelevant in the end.

    What matters is not the time you spent in the valley, how you got there, or how long it took you to climb out. What matters today, tomorrow, and forever, is what rope you used to climb out of the valley. I don't judge the character of another human's heart, so I wouldn't dare speculate on where your journey may reside. However, the truth I hold to be self-evident within my own mind is that I am not here for me, but for You.

    Kurt Vonnegut once said that man had managed to sum up God in five simple words; "all men are created equal." How ironic that the world's most famous humanist could summarize the plight of humanity and encapsulate such an incomprehensible reality in eight simple syllables. We are all created equal in our failure and yet we are naturally endowed with the knowledge that something beyond this life exists, whatever it may be. Men have murdered more men in the name of peace than in the name of war; such is the vast and brutal conundrum of imperfection.

    So how does this come full circle?

    Simple. It's not about me.