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New Issues

November 6, 2015

If we’re too honest with ourselves, everyone will admit that we wake up each day looking to deal with our issues. We start each day on the precipice of fixing whatever it is we see as false within ourselves, whatever doesn’t sit right. Every mirror, every 5AM and alarm clock is a frame in the large gallery of our desire for self improvement. The struggle with self worth has been a long and arduous one for me. It doesn’t plague my every thought or soil my memories and plans. It presents as this nagging ache in the pit of my stomach, hoping that my outward and inner selves can soon live up to this goal that remains blurred, as if just crossing the horizon. I’ve made great strides, but it’s as prevalent today as it ever was. Never more than when I dive headfirst into old writing.

I stumbled upon a saved clip today that, really, if we’re once again too honest, I went looking for. Leave it to me to catalogue the only conversation where we seemed to speak our mind; to keep it as a sort of ticking time bomb that even I wasn’t aware lay robbed of its pin. It won’t matter, it won’t effect any of my day-to-day or my outward mobility, but it seems to tar up my insides and exacerbate that ache. Another issue on the shelf, I guess a new version no less relevant than it had been last time I took it down to thumb through it. Last time I was thinking about honesty, and how we had both shared it and laughed in its face, and how that was no way to live back then. We were too young to sense the damage around us, the innocence making the decisions we had no right to be forcing upon others. And I used it as a catalyst to be more honest to both others and myself. If I was uncomfortable with secrets, why then I would simply quit having them. Happy to say it has worked well thus far. This time around I see, in the same dusty lines, a commentary on finality. It takes me back to how people always say that you never just start being a grown up, but simply look around one day and see that you’ve put away childish things. Or in some cases, they’ve run off without you. I think finality sneaks up on you more often than not. Each day with someone is a maybe, a what could be, until it isn’t. And that’s just what you live with. Perhaps that’s when you know you’re an adult, when you begin to file away the things you’re just going to have to live with, and without.

Apart from all that, the aimless wandering through blocks of text being as slippery a slope as it ever was, things seem just fine. I thrive in fall and winter, always have. The longer nights, I think, help fuel me. Work ethic picks up, my moral compass stops spinning, and I begin to dig in with resolve. If I feel aimless, I wait until moonlight comes out and I use it to think. I’m happy to be getting comfortable with driving again; those dark roads and conversations with the moon are I think the only thing that keeps me grounded.


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