When does it all end? The stories that we tell about ourselves are probably the single most important indicators of what our lives actually turn out to be, and yet knowing this is not enough.
The savvy are the ones who know, the wise are the ones who apply. So they say… but day after day, I struggle to apply what it is I think I know and I find myself in a mess of a life, trying to make sense of that which makes no sense at all. It’s emotional, sure… but what exactly does anyone owe me to have to listen, and suffer as I “figure things out.”
And I’ll make mistakes… because I don’t know what I’m doing. I’ve always played chess in the most unconventional way, opting not for strategy but for tactics. This is too many times the downfall of the conventional anti-hero. The difference between Walter White and Gus Fring. One reacts, like a proper chemist, an alchemist… the other is very calculated and methodical. I can be both, but more often I am just acting out of good intention. And how wrong I tend to be.
But the score is only tallied once the game is over, and as long as I breathe, think, am stupid and dumb, the game is stiill going on. Fear, as an opponent, has proved formidable. The fear of shame, of missing out on things, of misfitting in every scenario. That usually doesn’t come alone. It comes with procrastination, a lack of purpose that can paralyze you from the brain stem. So that I sit, but don’t think, and I find every little thing in order to distract myself.
Where are the people that said they’d check on me when I was down? I always imagined that sooner or later, like stars in the galaxy, they would drift away. We are the big bang, from a tiny explosion, we emerge. And some planets find their moon to orbit them, but some don’t – or they pull so violently that they absorb them and then the sky at night is just darkness. Life can’t exist without the sun… but could you imagine a life with no moon to look up to?
“Are you okay?” The moon asks. Because it sees you sad and alone.