No Secret

I can't hide it any longer. I hate new years. I do. It makes no sense, I know, but I just feel uncomfortable about the entire situation. This is how it happened:

I saw the fear before I felt it. Dark red and a garish yellow-green, it hung like streamers from invisible rafters. I was minding my own business, taking a shower, closed my eyes for a moment and there it was. I opened my eyes immediately, trying to run from my own thoughts. But curiosity got the best of me and I had to know what the fear was about. So I closed my eyes again. The fear did not speak. I did not give it a chance. I recognized it, honest and empty, and then I yelled at it. "Why do you always come like this? You find me when I'm vulnerable, exposed. This is never fair." Then it answered. "Life isn't fair. Life marches on." And this, this is how I knew who had sent it. This was no regular fear, in fact this was not fear at all. It was Anticipation and Emptiness. Guilt. Future. Unknown. It was the new year, coming to haunt me prematurely. 


Only for the past few years have I felt uneasy about new year's eve, but each year these feelings have been revealing themselves sooner and this year is no exception. Is it the fear of the unknown? The feeling that the world is moving on though I've failed to do anything of real worth in one entire lap around the sun? Maybe it's the loss of control. The calendar will end, a new page will turn, and there is nothing any of us can do about it. I am small, and on new year's I am grossly aware of this. 


It always begins like this, threads stirring around me, sewing themselves into my skin. Then when the day finally arrives they burrow in and settle in the deepest part of my stomach. There I try to ignore them until the clock strikes twelve. At that point what's done is done and there is no going back. At that point I can think rationally once again and untie the threads. At that point, I know that it is just time - just an idea - moving forward as it does every day. But from now until then I will live trying to ignore these threads - the deep red and the horrible yellow-green - that have once again begun wrapping me in this cloak of unexplainable dread.

This Can't Be Unwritten.

She told him that she loved him only after he broke her heart. She said it not to change his mind, but because no matter how hard she tried she could not unlove him.


I've been thinking lately about the finality of things. How nothing can be undone. You cannot unspeak words. You cannot uneat food. You cannot unthink thoughts. You cannot unlove. I realized all of this, and then I hesitated... to do anything. Because once I did it I could not undo it. If I choose to eat that cookie now, I have to live with that decision all day. But if I choose to wait I can still eat it later, or I can pass it up later. Everything in life is like this - if you do it now it's done forever. Waiting always brings more options.

But I don't want to think about cookies. I want to think about love. And how it can't be undone.


If it's true that you can't unlove, then what does this mean for our lives? It means that all love is unconditional. It means that you can fall in love, but you can never fall out of it. It means knowing that there are a handful of people on this earth as well as one God who love you no matter what. People that, by the very nature of loving you, can never ever stop loving you. It means that there is nothing you can say, do, think, or feel that will make you unloved. It means that someone chose to love you and when they made that choice, they made it forever.

It means that if you "stop" loving someone, then maybe you never truly loved them in the first place.
It means that you will be loved, whether you like it or not.
In short, it means no more lost love. No more broken hearts.


He watched her cry all night. But she didn't cry for sadness. She didn't cry for missing him. She cried because she wanted to show him love, and he would not accept it.


We need to realize that love is a choice. Just like speaking and eating, we choose to do it and we choose it forever. Shouldn't this make it easier? Shouldn't this make it rational? Shouldn't this make it make sense? Ha. If only.

When she finally stopped crying it wasn't because she was over him. It was because she realized that she had chosen to love him, and she could continue loving whether or not he chose to love her back.

Expectancy vs. Expectation

Maybe the reason I'm always disappointed is that I have too many expectations. Funny, since I've always lived by the motto of 'don't have any expectations and you'll never be disappointed'. But it's easier said than done. And now it has come to the point where my expectation is that I will be disappointed - and the satisfaction of being correct in any such case is usually outweighed by whatever disappointment I'm experiencing.

Expectation, to me, is wanting a specific thing or wanting something to happen in a certain way at a certain time. Expectation is wanting someone to act in a very particular way. It's understandable for people (especially ocd people like me) to have expectations. If we expect it we can plan for it. We can control it.

Expectancy is different. It's like being excited that something is going to happen, though you have no idea what that something may be. Expectancy is trusting in someone else to come through without any encouragement or help from you. And that - to me - is what makes expectancy difficult.

But none of this is new. So I pose a question.

I have no problem with expectation vs. expectancy when it comes to God. I believe in His promise and plan for my life, I know it's better than anything I have in mind and I trust Him to come through at His perfect time. So it's easy to be waiting with great expectancy but have no specific expectations from Him, since I trust in His plan. But what about people? Am I really supposed to have no expectations of other people? Am I supposed to be satisfied with the mediocre way that the people around me are living their lives, resulting in daily frustrations for me? Should I just wait around and trust in other people to come through, and then be happy with whatever happens?

Expectations in people range from the mundane to the important, and I cannot convince myself to stop expecting things from them. Things like, the others in a group project doing their part so I don't have to carry the entire load. Or the expectation that other drivers on the road will be sober so that I can be safe. A return phone call, is that too much to ask? Or how about a simple 'thank you' when I go completely out of my way to help someone. These are all expectations I have of people and I really can't bring myself to let them go, although they often result in disappointment.

And then there's the issue of expectancy in people. I guess I don't trust anyone enough. I've been brought up in a world where you have to fend for yourself, set goals and then chase them. A world where trusting in other people to help you succeed is never advised.

So is having expectations in other people really that bad? Am I asking too much? And if it's ok to set a standard for the way you want to be treated, how do you keep from being disappointed day after day? These are the questions that will keep me up tonight.

Accessories

She wears her anger like an accessory. No functional purpose, she wears it only to express personality. Each grudge, a keepsake charm on her bracelet.  Hostility is wrapped around her like a scarf, guarding her from the cool breeze of kindness. Her shoes are woven thick with pride, so she can step on your toes and never feel a thing. 

She could shed it all so simply. Unhook the clasps, unwind the scarf, untie the shoes, and carry on with life. But she chooses this gaudy appearance day after lonesome day. Someone really should tell her how ugly it all looks.

Toxic Luminoscity

She said that my eyes were "luminous". At first I was flattered. I said they were a gift from my mom, whose eyes are ice water blue. 
"No." She said. "It's not so much the color but more that your pupils are just so large. They draw people in."

So I realized what she really meant - she was noticing what my eyes look like when I'm slightly drugged on excedrin, haven't eaten anything remotely healthy for the past eleven days, and am running on three hours of sleep. I should have told her that's why. I should have not accepted her compliment. I should have not lied by omission. 

But nobody really wants to hear the truth.
"Well, thank you."
And that was that.

These Words

There's no explanation. Because if I could explain it I would. But it really can't be done in a few words - it takes a lifetime to understand these things.

This is all me. I'm lost in these words and this is where I'll stay. I know the way out, but the world is too scary. And I could put it in your terms but then I wouldn't understand.

You want to be inside? The words are all I have. These are my words with friends. My words with enemies. My words with anyone who will listen. I sing them in the shower and in the car. I shout them on the streets and on the information highway. Sometimes we can't hear, but most of the time we just aren't listening. (Sometimes bleach ruins your shirt; sometimes it makes it better. This is why my soul is laughing - because I know how to make it work for the better.)

I've figured out the secret to life. I'm selling it to the highest bidder.