Against the Tide
I have lived enough years to know when I am pretty much living the same year over again, feeling the same hopes and devastations, writing the same words, making myself the same promises that next time it will be better, next time my next step will get me somewhere other than back where I started. I am climbing up the down escalator stuck in the middle. And it isn’t broken. And it isn’t stairs. It’s life against the grain, against the tide, against all odds and no choice but to keep climbing, because, well, the alternative isn’t remaining in place – the alternative is sinking.
Keeping from Sinking
Keeping from sinking has become my full time job, my love affair, my property, my claim to fame, my offspring, at a time when I have none of these things that define and comfort most of my contemporaries. I always knew my life choices would banish me to the fringes where my fellow non-conformists dwell, but no one warned me it would be this hard. It seemed a thing for which you make certain initial sacrifices, because you know no other way of being, and then accept and enjoy, not something you earn, defend, and pay for every single day of your life, and certainly not something that gets paradoxically harder to maintain the better at it you get.
There Have Been Beautiful Moments
I’m a freak, a geek and a nerd. I’m a punk, a misfit and an outcast not even content among fellow outcasts. I crave belonging but membership makes my skin crawl. I die of loneliness on a regular basis, but I am often only truly alive in my own company. I don’t look or live like my alleged peers, I don’t have their obligations, concerns and drives; more often than not I feel slightly uncomfortable in their presence, as if I were from another planet and the energy required to mimic their behavior constitutes such a drain on my inner resources every encounter requires days of solitary restoration and replenishment of my reserves. I can find common ground with nearly every person I meet, but not one overlaps with me entirely or even more than halfway. Some of my best friends could not even be in the same sentence together. And while there have been beautiful moments of alignment and connection with some amazing people over the years, there is always that point where their escalator rises and carries them away to a safe happy normal landing and mine keeps me exactly where I am, struggling to go nowhere.
Room to Dream
That said, the struggle makes me stronger than I ever imagined I could become. It gives me time to think and room to dream, between those moments of deep despair and acute longing. If I focus only on what’s immediately ahead of me, or even better, the vastness within me, I don’t even care about anyone else’s progress. Progress seems like a pastime for fools, weaklings and cowards. At times they cast a glance at what must appear to be my futile unproductive existence and I see myself reflected in their eyes, measured by their standards and falling short. At times I wonder how long those others would last living my life. At times I understand how limited their lives actually are.
They have arrived and I have not. I am fighting every day for every inch I gain and lose in an endless battle to remain true to myself. And when it comes down to it, so to speak, there is nothing stopping me from jumping off this escalator and borrowing another easier way of getting somewhere in life than being in a position of always starting over. I am never at the end and always at the beginning. But why the hell would I want it otherwise?