journal-11/09/98

11/09/98

I try so hard to be smart about life. I try to be smart about people. I try to do the right thing, to move forward, go the right direction. And lately, more often than not, I fail. With every moment, I become more and more stupid, and pointless, and clueless, and confused. I listen too hard and think too much, and this gets me into trouble a lot of the time. I set things right with one person, and then everything gets screwed up with another person. Right now I feel like I'm just not very good at walking on the balance beam. I keep waving my arms madly in the air, trying to stablize, trying so hard not to fall into the deep dark depths, trying desperately not to drown.

And I realize that sometimes you have to fall. A friend of mine and I were walking on a sidewalk next to a busy street one time, and he tripped on the sidewalk. I laughed. He didn't fall-- he just stumbled. He said,

"I stumble a lot, but I never fall."

And I replied, "But sometimes you have to fall so you can appreciate the walk."

Maybe I should listen to myself sometimes.

But I can't even hear what I'm saying right now. It's all a blank, all confusion, all a blur. I've stumbled, but for some reason I can't allow myself to fall. I just keep waving my arms, hoping that someone will catch me. When will I realize that this time, I have to fall all the way to the concrete so I can get back up again?

When I was little, and on roller skates, I would always get really scared to fall down on the ground. The concrete was smooth and I knew it wouldn't really hurt, but I was scared anyway.

Every time I've ridden a horse, I've feared falling off of it. I love horses and think they are beautiful, majestic animals. But for some reason, I am afraid. Granted, the first time I rode a horse by myself (without my dad behind me in the saddle), I was thrown off and the fall broke my arm. Another time I was confident on the horse, and that one threw me a good 12 feet when he took off. It was like a cartoon almost-- something spooked him, he ran off, and I didn't go with him. There was an instant where I was airborn, and then I landed (oof!) on the ground.

And when I was learning to ride a bike... my dad always ran behind me, holding onto the seat. If I ever looked back to see if he was there, and he wasn't, I immediately fell over. Consequently, I didn't learn how to ride my bike until I was 12. It took me one day, a bad sunburn, and a lot of determination. I wouldn't let my dad help me, I had to do it on my own. I fell over, scraped my legs up, and came inside at the end of the day with the biggest triumphant grin on my face (which would have been bigger, had I not gotten a major sunburn in the process). And that's the way I've always had to do things. The hard way. Myself. I have this problem with finishing things. Halfway through (or less) I lose motivation, lose momentum, and quit. If there's nobody there keeping me on task, I wander off into something else. Which is why writing poems is more natural to me than say, writing a novel. Poems are shorter. Instant gratification. Instant product.

Instant.

That's another reason why it was such a big deal for me to graduate from college. I finished something. Something big.

Now what?

And so there must be some parallel line drawn between the inability to finish things and not allowing myself to fall. It's the lack of discipline to follow through the motion. No, that doesn't even make sense. I follow through with so many things, and regularly-- maybe it's just life in general that knocks me off balance sometimes (just life?). I dunno. I'm just treading water right now, and I can see the horizon way in the distance, and I can see a tiny little beacon marking where I need to go... the problem I'm having is negotiating the distance between here and there. It's a long journey. Very long indeed. I've started, and now I need to finish. And remember to allow myself to get out of breath once in a while, so I have to stop, so I'll enjoy the process while I'm doing it.