I find myself bouncing back and forth between stupid, happy-clappy, mindless motion on this planet and then times like now… Where I am perpetually pensive and exhausting my friends with an endless series of rhetorical questions that I (annoyingly) answer and ask again and again.
I am in a place of yes.
Do you remember when you were a kid and learning how to swim? How violently you would swing your arms against the water pushing back on your little legs and arms? How you’d take such a deep animated breath in order to just submerge your head under the water? The deliberate way we’d hold our arms out above our heads, toes over the edge of the deep end and arc out backs just-so and then lean into the water and belly flop anyway?
That’s been my life as of late. Fucking deliberate, well-intentioned, thoughtful movements from one place to another and then… belly flops.
I remember one night, at Devon’s house… It was sometime in the last year, but I really can’t remember when. She said something to me that rings in my head often, but most especially in the last week or so. We were discussing something that was going awry in my life (who knows what it was, take a number) but how I’m a fighter and how I always find a way to scrap and pull and push and make shit happen.
I take great pride in this part of my personality — it’s not something that I think you’re born with. You really have to have some seriously stank shit thrown into your fan (over and over) before you learn how to not only dodge the shit, but play off the spatter on your wall like it’s some kind of modern bile art.
I always end up on top… On top of what? Well, usually piles of shit and crap and mismanagement and clutter. But I always end up on TOP of that shit and I can rest easy at the end of these little journeys knowing that there isn’t some big heap of shit on top of my chest at night.
But, that night, at Devon’s house, she said, “I look forward to the time in your life when you stop fighting.”
I remember getting defensive like, “I don’t WANT to fight. But the shit! The shit keeps being catapulted at me, Devon! It’s not my FAULT!” *whine*whine*whine*.
But now… However many days, weeks, month later… After who knows how many complicated courtships and failed relationships and jamiesque fuckups… I get it.
I get it, Devon! I get it!
More yes and less no. I am going to stop resisting things so much. I’m going to stop fighting against preconceived notions. I’m going to stop listening to that voice in my head that always seems to talk me out of the good things I ought to be doing and going after and into the bad shit that keeps holding me back.
More yes! Fuck standards. Forget ceilings. What do you have for me world? I’m ready to receive it and let it wash over me and instead of pushing off against the edge of the pool and splashing about in the water, I’m just going to lay very still on my back and float on top of it all.
I had a date with a woman tonight. No, I’m not gay. I don’t even really think I’m bisexual. But you know what? I had never been on a date with a woman. (I mean, lawd I’ve been other places with women, but never an actual date and never sober). And you know what? It was fine. It was. She was lovely and kind and compassionate and it was just fine. I don’t think anything will really come of it, but you know what? I took a leap. I opened a door.
I’m opening windows. Airing out my heart and not worrying about where the wind blows the papers around my house. Just… yes. No more fighting. What’s the point anyway? Quit playing mental pingpong in my head with ideas and notions and just… try it. Do it. Do it until it doesn’t feel right anymore. And then find something that fits better.
More yes, less no.