Thursday, 27 October 2016

Someone once said; to love is to be vulnerable.

That person did not go on to say how to do that when you're scared. When you're bound and bloodied by emotion and the consequences of your actions. When you're not ready in the slightest but someone holds their hand out to you.

You're not supposed to push that hand away, to fill it only with the sand of troubles, to let it sit, and wait. For love to be - any love, be that familial, platonic, passionate, you have to grasp that hand, and accept what may come.

You may be low, they may be high. You may be up and they down. You might both need each other more than you realise, because that warmth spreads both ways.

I'm not very good at not being afraid. Yes, I don't mind rollercoasters so much now, and maybe I can deal with going to a party on my own, and sometimes even spiders get dealt with. But the big things, the things that would make me a man, a person I could be proud of, well...they're not always so easy.

This place is where I put parts of myself that often reflect what I want to be, not what I yet am. They are struggles and reminders of the path I want to always be in front of me, and whether I like it or not, sometimes I falter on that path.

Today I was reminded to not be a coward. To take the hand proffered and dive into that abyss, that unknown, and simply live. Regrettably I realised this only as the tide began to recede, but this fool is nothing if not hopeful, and one hopes that boat is not yet far from shore.

I have, somehow have always known, that I must pursue my own goals with diligence and purpose in order to truly be happy, to be able to reciprocate the love I am given in the way it deserves to be returned. I need to be that man to truly be worthy of the one I'm with. To feel like someone who has accomplished, who has achieved at least some of his goals, who can really make a difference.

My friends have all moved on, my peers left me far behind, and any thoughts of competition fled me long ago. My desire to be good at something twisted in on itself like a warped sculpture, whispering over and over that I can't ever succeed because I'm so far behind I can barely reach their legacy. Telling me I'm the one left behind, while by night I dream of running faster than the wind.

But that's a lie. I'm better at what I do now than I ever was. And just because I haven't come as far as I've wanted, doesn't mean I'm not worthy in some way. Yes, I don't have a job. Yes, I don't have any money left. Yes, I live at home with my family. But being an artist, being a writer, isn't always the straightest path, and it's certainly not the traditional one. I'm not going to pretend it's easy going against society, I'm not going to pretend I don't feel like a waste of a life sometimes.

And I'm not going to pretend I'm no good at what I am anymore.

I might not be a real writer yet. But I am far from being nothing.

And maybe if I can find the strength to not worry of shattering someone else's soul, I might be able to find companionship on this road again.