balance.
Balance is not my forte.
Not in holding my body upright, not in my eating habits, not in mitigating my passions...nothing.
I stumble, then I dance. I starve, then I binge. I feel, then I
close off sharply. I yell, then I whisper. I babble, then I close off
like a snail in a shell.
I sleep late, but lie awake at odd hours, wondering.
And most of all, I write
furiously for pages on end -- and then question the sincerity and sensibility of
every syllable. In the end, I am forced to embrace contradictions with more fervor than I seek order of any kind.
For everyone else in my life, though, I pursue order with diligence.
If they seem peaceful, happy, and well-fed, I'm utterly at ease. If
their apple cart begins to loll a bit to the side, I go on high alarm
to right them before they ever manage to upset.
I let them have their insanities and I celebrate their weirdnesses
and quirks with abandon. But at the core, I'll do anything to make
things okay. I have to -- if they aren't, I'm at a loss.
Someone told me once that I care for others so that I can avoid
caring for myself. That I solve their problems to seek solutions for my
own. That their happiness becomes a substitute for my own satisfaction.
I don't even know if that's true. I know I want to be happy. But I'm not sure how to make that happen.
Everyone else's delight just seems so much less elusive than my own.
They respond to my efforts with genuine satisfaction, but me?
I'm weary in the face of my own convincing.
I know my line -- but I don't buy it anymore.
Do I dance on the inside when I force you to dance, grabbing your hands and spinning like a top? Does my laughter
melt me the way it does you, when we give ourselves to jokes so fiercely that we cry?
Do my words put things into perspective
for me the way they seem to for you -- sometimes? I lie in bed at night and I don't know what normal is. What should I
be thinking about? How should I be reacting? What is worth reacting to?
What is worth anger? What is worth sadness? What merits joy?
What sensations should be
present in my physical being? What does fullness feel like? What does emptiness feel like? What does
normal feel like? In our six billion different bodies, for all our commonality and
communication, we're never quite sure we feel the same as anyone else.
And as long as that mystery prevails, I can't help but slip and slide a
bit, just slightly off kilter.
It's no wonder to me that I am most at home in the waves. In the water, the only sure thing is that you will be buffeted.
And if you were moving to a different rhythm to begin with, you can slide into the
rocking of the waves with no effort at all. In that place -- in the
quiet of the ocean, just below the surface, where light is dulled and
skin tingles with cold and salt flavours your pursed lips -- I have
always found refuge.
But millions of people fear the water -- and rightfully so -- because it is the most
shocking and devastating of all the elements. Even in lakes as still as
stones, bodies fight to float. An inch of the stuff can rob you
of life.
So why am I so unsteady on the certain footing of land, yet so
myself where my body isn't meant to be? Why do I throw myself into
uncertainty?
You could say I've never known real waves. Partly, you'd be right.
But the truth is this:
Deep down, I've never really known anything else.
9:54:26 PM 
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