Continued from here...
I came here with a load
And it feels so much lighter
Now I met you
And honey you should know
That I could never go on without you
“Green Eyes”
But the thing is, annoyingly, that you can in fact go on without her.
That shouldn’t be a disappointment, and yet, in some ways, it is. Almost as if that strips away any and all depth of emotional experience. Almost as if what you felt was a lie. Almost as if it never really mattered.
I don’t think that’s quite true, although it’s interesting, to say the least, to look back on those times were you were so absolutely sure of what you felt, and with whom you were. I mean, there was no question, right? No doubt. A very Gwen Stefani-esque existence going on there. And, on top of that, most of us have been in this place multiple times.
So, does the repetitive nature of these experiences invalidate them? Does our inability to ever perceive the ultimate outcome taint these? Well, on bad days, it sure can. Like I mentioned earlier, I’m having a really hard time re-trusting my instincts. I’m also in a bit of “oh what’s the point” mixed with a little “man, this should be easier now, but it’s not” with a bit of “I should just stay at home and beat SSX Tricky and avoid humanity” sprinkled on top.
Because the load is heavier now. Harder to bear. She made it feel as light as a feather. But here I am, Atlas-like once more. Not forever, though. Jesum, I hope to hell that’s true.
Come on in, I’ve gotta tell you what a state I’m in
I’ve gotta tell you in my loudest tones
That I started looking for a warning sign
“Warning Sign”
Course, the first thing to do is get a bit of perspective.
I mean, after all, I’ve been writing dutifully over the past year, which means that the inward eye hath been fixed even more so than usual. I’ve gone from the sublime to the ridiculous to the “we’re on a date and she tells me she still is living with her ex-fiancée” and back again, so I should have a firm grasp on a few basic tenets that I can employ towards the betterment of my existence.
But mostly, I got a big ol’ bucket o’ nuttin’.
Maybe there’s a fatalism involved. I don’t necessarily make these things happen, but I perhaps allow them to happen. Might sound like the same thing, but I don’t think so. I tend to put myself in positions in which someone can do something to me that will result in a mental migraine. All 20/20 in hindsight, but when I’m going through these motions, I tend to not see the incoming train as I walk on the tracks.
Now, I’m not absolving myself from any culpability. Lord knows that. I screw up all the time. That’s never going to truly stop. But these situations, these “so bizarre they were rejected as plots on ‘Passions’” situations, these I can perhaps avoid. Maybe listen to a few internal warning signs. Maybe respond to the tingling Spider-sense with more than a “Oh, but this time, it’ll be OK.”
Doesn’t mean I’ll stop dead in my tracks anytime something’s a bit amiss, but maybe I can protect myself, and after that, others, from repeating past mistakes. That’s not really a perspective so much as a hopeful plan, but that’s the best most of us can hope for.
Night turns to day
And I still have these questions
Bridges will break
Should I go forwards or backwards
Night turns to day
And I still get no answers
“A Whisper”
The problem with the plan, of course, is that it involves me in its central axis, and that’s always bad juju.
It’s some form of Murphy’s Law, I feel. Let’s call it McGee’s Law, because then it’s got my name in it, and that’s never a bad thing in my book. The Law goes something like this: In instances where I should think about my actions, I simply act. When I simply act, inevitably I am burned by my lack of initial thought.
2004’s a lot of that “second verse, same as the first” ditty. I don’t buy into a lot of the resolutions aspect to New Year’s, but I do appreciate a clean slate, albeit one socially and arbitrarily imposed by our forefathers. And by all accounts, the end of 2003 ended with the spectacular, four-star implosion of my nuclear family, so really, I was so ready for that year to be over anyways.
Here’s the annoying thing about social applicability, though: it doesn’t truly exist. You can try to prove a social truth over a statistically viable number of people, but on a one to one basis, there are never really many lessons that you can take from one failed relationship to another. (Or a successful one, for that matter.) It’s not “Groundhog Day”, where you can finally “solve” someone through the consistent refining of technique. You start with a clean slate, and beyond “don’t call her fat”, there aren’t a whole lot of rules you can unequivocally fall back on.
One girl appreciated it when you hold the door open for her…the next calls you patriarchal scum. One girl loves to stay in; the other wants to go out five nights a week. One loves gifts; the other insists that you never buy her anything. Neither person in these binaries are, in my mind, weighted “more” or “less” than their counterpart…it’s just different strokes for them different folks. Lord knows my ideal is not your ideal, and I’m hardly anyone’s ideal.
But I’m someone’s ideal. And I’ve gone forwards and backwards to find this person, burned a lot of bridges, and I still am not closer to finding answers. Or her. Thought the journey was over, in some ways. But night turned to day, and the journey just started anew.
So meet me by the bridge, meet me by the lane
When am I going to see that pretty face again
Meet me on the road, meet me where I said
Blame it all upon
A rush of blood to the head
“A Rush of Blood to the Head”
One foot in front of the other. Step by step. Keep on moving.
That’s what we do. We can’t just zone out, unless you’re a trust fund baby without student loans and car payments and rent to keep you going from day to day. We can’t just stop, those of us who put a premium on personal happiness derived from personal relationships. Not from work, income, fame, or Golden Tee score, but rather from our ability to make someone else happy, and, concurrently, to be made happy by those people.
The last year’s certainly been a doozy, and one in which it often has felt like I’ve been held upside long enough to have all that blood rush to my head. It was all very “Godfather Part 3”: just when I was out, it pulled me back in. Easy enough to be despondent and “f#ck it all” and the like, and Lord knows I indulge that impulse, but at a certain point, you just stop thinking and start moving.
Moving towards what, you’re not sure. But away from the past. That much is sure. The trick is to get distance, without losing sight, of those events. Often I’d wish I could simply erase the last year of my life, but in honesty, I’d probably just relive it. I’d find a way. I’m cool like that.
So I move on, and most likely move onto new problems. I’m not going to avoid that, unfortunately. But standing still…that’s even worse.
You can say what you mean
But it won’t change a thing
I’m sick of the secrets
Stood on the edge, tied to a noose
You came along and you cut me loose
“Amsterdam”
So, we’re here, moving on, from the debris of failed relationship, failed marriages, insanely bizarre dates, and the implosion of what was a promising new relationship. Here at 28, in a city I’ve been in for close to a decade. Here in a bitter winter with most of what I knew 12 months ago pulled out from under me. Left lying on the floor after the removal of that psychological rug.
All of this added up to zero.
I mean, my life isn’t worthless. That’s not what I mean when I say my life has seemingly added up to zero. But there’s very little I can unequivocally say is truly is exactly how I want it, either. Depending on what day you catch me, this is either a huge bonus or a huge detriment. On my bad days, it makes me feel like my life’s been in neutral, that I’ve been rolling along, not doing, not seizing, not attempting, not reaching.
But on my better days, I know that’s not exactly true. I’m not the best at making things happen for myself, but my state in life is hardly due to me not trying. Or even me trying and failing. I’ve failed as much as I’ve been failed. Both of these are further broken down into things I could have controlled and things well beyond my control. And this last year, well, I’m a bit biased, but I think I’ve been put through the ringer more often that anybody really deserves.
Two steps forward, two steps back. One step forward, three steps back. Two forward, one back. Consistent motion, but towards what, who knows? Maybe the implosion of so much around me is what has finally cut the noose of compliance and inertia. Maybe the book is the first real step away from that. Again, I don’t know towards what, but if I did know, I guess my life would be a little less fun.
My life is like my writing. I can’t rewrite my life, and I generally refuse to rewrite what I put out here. Maybe the sentence structure could be cleaner, maybe the word choice improved, but I go off what I feel and think at that moment. It’s messy and mistake-filled but undeniably mine. And occasionally, it’s pretty darn good. It’s knocked me upside the head, shaken me up, but hasn’t beaten me just yet. The battle between thinking and feeling will never really end, and the work to trust myself to balance the two is ever-present. But I’m still trying, and I guess that’s the important thing.
Maybe I need to expect more and less at the same time. Expect less of others, which isn’t to say I won’t expect anything, but I should perhaps re-evaluate my own dealings with them.
And expect more from myself. Lord knows I deserve better than this past year has doled out. Gotta get me some of that, methinks.
That would be quite a rush, indeed.
Posted by Ryan McGee at February 05, 2004 08:50 AM