5/23
I find it a strange thing, to be finally presented with something you've wanted for a long time. It is strange because I never imagined that were it to happen to me, I would be afraid. So afraid, in fact, to nearly let the opportunity to reach out and hold on to it pass me by completely.
I believe some context is necessary in order for this thought to make sense, so here it is. However cliche you might interpret it to be.
Imagine being five years old again. Try to remember the vivid and exciting way the world appeared to you through your guileless eyes, how immense and all-encompassing your emotions and desires felt, how curiosity always seemed to triumph over fear-- simply because you haven't yet experienced enough pain to understand fear. Remember the pure sensation of wanting without trepidation or dread.
Can you remember how that felt?
When I was in kindergarten, at the ripe age of five, I had a crush on one of the boys in my class. I remember thinking that it would be a brilliant idea to reveal my fondness for his existence, so I spent an evening plopped in front of the coffee table at home (I was short enough that, sitting down, the height of it reached my forehead), painstakingly cutting out rudimentary heart-shaped cards out of red construction paper and carefully printing "I love you" on each one. The next time I went to class, I delivered a heart to each of my friends, giving the reddest, most precisely cut paper heart to the boy I liked. I remembered not feeling afraid or shy or ashamed to have my feelings presented to the whole world (which contained about fifteen other five year olds and their parents at the time). My feelings weren't reciprocated but I don't think my care-free self cared. But, oh, I did learn to care. That same kind of rejection was delivered over and over again throughout the next eighteen years of my life; my emotions were always too big, I was always too passionate or emotionally volatile to be worth dating. So, I learned-- so deeply that this perception of myself became a part of my bearing and the way I eventually conducted myself around many people. I became so afraid of how deeply and thoroughly I felt my emotions that I would tell myself they didn't matter. I learned through repetition of the same lesson, the same pain, that feeling too much is a negative trait, that no one is willing to put up with it.
When I rationalize it, I can understand. Living in my own head as it is; I can't imagine another person wanting to experience it second-hand on top of their own mind clusterfuck. It's ironic though, isn't it? For too much love to be the reason that a person is unlovable.
Anyway, as I am sure most people can agree, the more time you spend on this earth, you are taught through repeated lessons and recycled pain to be afraid. Of wanting. Of being curious. Of showing how you truly feel. In this vein, it should have been obvious that when at last there is a possibility to have the thing you've always wanted, you would be reluctant to reach for it. Not when the memory of deeply ingrained pain is still scored into your heart.
Is this the challenge, then? To see if we are worthy of what we desire and if we are able to understand the brevity and weight of what we want through being denied it time and time again.
Am I brave enough? Do I deserve love? I ask myself. Some days, the answer is yes. Other days, the answer is no. Despite the times when the answer is no, I still want to believe I deserve it. I want to, because I would tell someone else they deserve it, even when they feel like they don't. Maybe at the end of the day, those are the times when we need it most. I just never thought I'd have to be brave in order to allow myself that.
I believe some context is necessary in order for this thought to make sense, so here it is. However cliche you might interpret it to be.
Imagine being five years old again. Try to remember the vivid and exciting way the world appeared to you through your guileless eyes, how immense and all-encompassing your emotions and desires felt, how curiosity always seemed to triumph over fear-- simply because you haven't yet experienced enough pain to understand fear. Remember the pure sensation of wanting without trepidation or dread.
Can you remember how that felt?
When I was in kindergarten, at the ripe age of five, I had a crush on one of the boys in my class. I remember thinking that it would be a brilliant idea to reveal my fondness for his existence, so I spent an evening plopped in front of the coffee table at home (I was short enough that, sitting down, the height of it reached my forehead), painstakingly cutting out rudimentary heart-shaped cards out of red construction paper and carefully printing "I love you" on each one. The next time I went to class, I delivered a heart to each of my friends, giving the reddest, most precisely cut paper heart to the boy I liked. I remembered not feeling afraid or shy or ashamed to have my feelings presented to the whole world (which contained about fifteen other five year olds and their parents at the time). My feelings weren't reciprocated but I don't think my care-free self cared. But, oh, I did learn to care. That same kind of rejection was delivered over and over again throughout the next eighteen years of my life; my emotions were always too big, I was always too passionate or emotionally volatile to be worth dating. So, I learned-- so deeply that this perception of myself became a part of my bearing and the way I eventually conducted myself around many people. I became so afraid of how deeply and thoroughly I felt my emotions that I would tell myself they didn't matter. I learned through repetition of the same lesson, the same pain, that feeling too much is a negative trait, that no one is willing to put up with it.
When I rationalize it, I can understand. Living in my own head as it is; I can't imagine another person wanting to experience it second-hand on top of their own mind clusterfuck. It's ironic though, isn't it? For too much love to be the reason that a person is unlovable.
Anyway, as I am sure most people can agree, the more time you spend on this earth, you are taught through repeated lessons and recycled pain to be afraid. Of wanting. Of being curious. Of showing how you truly feel. In this vein, it should have been obvious that when at last there is a possibility to have the thing you've always wanted, you would be reluctant to reach for it. Not when the memory of deeply ingrained pain is still scored into your heart.
Is this the challenge, then? To see if we are worthy of what we desire and if we are able to understand the brevity and weight of what we want through being denied it time and time again.
Am I brave enough? Do I deserve love? I ask myself. Some days, the answer is yes. Other days, the answer is no. Despite the times when the answer is no, I still want to believe I deserve it. I want to, because I would tell someone else they deserve it, even when they feel like they don't. Maybe at the end of the day, those are the times when we need it most. I just never thought I'd have to be brave in order to allow myself that.
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