A fellow blogger, Reena Saxena, asked this question in her Exploration Challenge. This question stopped me dead in my tracks. Well, my reading, thinking, tracks.
It made me wonder – what am I avoiding at this point in time? How about a bunch. A passel. More than I could put into one post.
But really, this isn’t true. Saying there are too many things to count is just another way of avoiding. If there are too many, why bother? Let’s just toss the question aside and move on.
Which, in itself, is a cop-out. So is my life an endless circles of cop-outs?
I sincerely hope not, but what do I know? I can’t even list avoided ‘things.’
So, if I brave up and seriously think about the question, what do I find?
I find I am avoiding the world right now. But no, that’s quite true. I am avoiding myself. I am out of work and feeling like anybody else in the world can get a job except me. I am often told, so-and-so called this place and got a job. She put in an application here and got a job. He interviewed here and got hired. And on and on.
I’m told, “With your skills, you will have no problem finding a job.” Truth is, I don’t have a job. Where are these ‘no problem’ jobs?
So what the hell is wrong with me?
Sorry, got carried away there.
But I hope you get the point. Which isn’t, by the way, me freaking out about the job, but that I’m avoiding the whys or hows or whens. I don’t want to face myself if I’m somebody who can no longer get a job. If a medical mistake had changed the entirety of who I am.
I don’t want to face myself as I stand on the threshold of financial failure. The Bi-Polar me doesn’t even know how to see myself anymore.
Who am I? This is what I am avoiding.
Am I better knowing this? Maybe. Maybe not. It’s safer to pretend.
So, then, the question is:
Am I willing to stop pretending?
I don’t know.
I do know I am thankful to Reena for asking the question in the first place.
What are you avoiding at this point in time?
PHOTO PROMPT © Danny Bowman
“The road goes ever on and on,” he quoted, land hot and still around him.
He was music. Music was him. But the rest was all just a tangle in his head. Rivers of pain, octopus arms strangling him with memories he’d never remember.
He’d come to the point where either he or the world needed to disappear.
History called it a walkabout. He prayed it would be his salvation. The scars on his wrists prayed, too, for salvation.
A thousand empty miles before him. A million broken moments behind.
He took a step and started walking.
“The heart becomes heroic though passion…if no one loved, the sun would go out.”
― Victor Hugo,
“Somewhere in the world there is a defeat for everyone. Some are destroyed by defeat, and some made small and mean by victory. Greatness lives in one who triumphs equally over defeat and victory.”