I am the pursuer, not the pursued. The initiative driver, not the passenger. I am the risk taker, the giver, the over-sharer, the one who reaches out (of course, this is relative to when I can manage such things).
But far too infrequently, I am the receiver.
That’s out of balance, right? Which is no one’s fault but my own. I mean, I was the one who wrote the story saying how I’m independent, carefree and happily living life that way.
So, if I insist on hopping around on one leg only, always hopping on that leg and then, if that leg is (secretly or overtly) karate kicked out from under me… I am prostrate, shocked, heartbroken, grief stricken, and most importantly – I am no longer standing.
It’s really no surprise then, the way I get knocked for six when ideas, experiences, or love is ripped to shreds.
Because you see, I have not a leg to stand on.
The sign posts I’ve painted along this path lead to yet another form of madness. This way to loneliness, sadness and but why me yet again?
Really, not-so-secretly, we all know that no one can really live that way and be happy though. Much as we’d like to pretend otherwise. Balance is the key, yep, balance. Extremes just beget other extremes and encourage extreme ways of living. Which is, y’know, extreme.
A moderate path is much smoother, happier, easier, simpler. Gotta get there sometime, right?
But first: learning to give up the perception of control I think I have over what’s going on. Which is a joke, because that wiser part of myself already knows that’s just – to quote the British – a load of bollocks.
I can attempt to be happy in that one-leg hopping world or I can fend off all attempts at anyone bringing happiness to my one-leg hopping world. All to maintain the appearance that yes, I do go through life hopping on one leg very nicely thank you very much.
Just gotta watch out for those karate kicks!
Actually, no, what we really need to do is to learn to walk on both feet with even weight distribution. Its okay to sometimes be strong, others weak. It’s okay to have an exchange and admit we’re not always in control of the wheel when in the driver’s seat.
But I’m not there yet.
And so in this way, I can not say I miss you, though I desperately want to. I can not reach out and ask for love or friendship that’s not freely given.
The only currency I really understand is action. What I do. What you do. What do our actions and inactions say?
And that’s not balanced either, because actions can lie just as much as words can. In the absence of action, words can lie easily. In the absence of words, action (or lack thereof) can do the same. Though I’m much better at reading body language than word-type lies.
Anyway. I’m starting to understand that this precarious equilibrium is really not equal at all.
Not until you can let go of the self-described labels. All of them.