There's no easy way to develop yourself that is sustainable outside of the greenhouse you put around yourself to grow. Perhaps a bulky, harsh statement, but it's true. I've spent my time building up to a person who's simply an anxious, vulgar, diluted mess. As hard as I try to pull myself together to be presentable, it's not happening.
The Locked Box.
What I mean is that my mind works best when it's left alone. Sometimes it works too well. If you listen closely, it's almost like you can hear the cogs clicking and scuffing around and around. As much as I'd like to have the motion stop, to have the noise withdraw for just a few minutes of silence, it's also what helps me to succeed. Most people might find others that motivate them, but I tend to gather inspiration like vintage clothes. I hold onto things until they become worn out, overused, and then I'll repurpose those things into new items - pillows, rags, bandanas, bags. But, I also want to point out that this whole Locked Box-Mind-Trick thing is hard. For me, I'll build roadblocks and walls and ultimately forget to put in doors. I'll keep myself in degrees of separation from another person just so I can...what? Enjoy myself? No.
There are lines of separation that, sometimes, need to be crossed in order to develop as good, wholly devout people. I, on the other hand, don't let others cross the lines I place before me. I'll be quick to crash through other people's lines, but when the obvious realization becomes clear, I'll take a hundred steps back. I treat myself as if I'm a summer home - a fantastic idea and a fun escape, but ultimately on a timeshare with someone else who somehow gets it 90% of the year. While I use the metaphor of a locked box, I don't want to be off-limits to those who need me, to those who want to know the person hiding somewhere inside.
And so, A Missing Key.
As I traverse this thing called life, I pick up new hacks and tricks and tips. Exercise can help clear your head, and if not, it can at least occupy you for an hour or more. Water is the only liquid, it seems, that people marvel at the amount you drink yet insist it's natural to drink your weight in it. But, even though I watch and listen, I never seem to find those words I'm looking for. The ones that can click into the mechanism and flip open the lid to the box. In fact, I'm not even sure I know what those words are anymore. "I love you" was used as a pry-bar during the duration of my first relationship. "I need you" was used as an anchor to weigh both of us down in relationship two. "I want you" was ultimately the hollow sound that seemed to resonate in me any time I let him touch me. I think what I'm trying to say is that this magical key I'm searching for has been so far misplaced that it might as well be the last copy of the first pope's autobiography. Somewhere along my travels, I've grown accustomed to ignoring my needs in order to forward other things.
Work, Academia, Social Gatherings. My magical All-Cure doesn't exist. So, why do I keep insisting that it's right there in the distance, awaiting my grasp on it? Because if I accept my dissonance, then I can only ever accept that my desires are on the back burner always. If I decide to keep with this idea that things will stay the same forever, I begin expecting low outcomes and weak rewards. But, this Missing Key will find its way back into my life one way or another because I remember a time when I felt only happiness and joy.
Because of One Memory...
I feel a sense of wonder and curiosity that when I reflect on my past relationships, I essentially begin at the branches at the very top, and work my way back into the roots. My mother, my grandmother, a friend, even a rival. Perhaps it's not just one memory, but one memory that has cultivated in the sensation of groundedness that seems to grip me when I'm at my lowest point. I can always rely on my mother, a person of great strength and wisdom, to guide me back from whatever edge I'm leaning over. My grandmother, my source of grace, a woman who always seems to give me a clear picture of what I need to look at. A friend, now a man, who included me in his life when it seemed no one else wanted to deal with my antics as a teen. And the rival, who not only seemed to try to beat me, but ultimately revealed that the relationship between my older sibling and I, though strained, was always there to begin with.
Perhaps nothing makes sense in this, but perhaps something in this does make more sense than I can even know. But, honestly, I can only keep trying to push forward in an attempt to remain stable and balanced. Even if this is a time of great juggling, this too shall pass into a greener spring.
-Brandon
The Locked Box.
What I mean is that my mind works best when it's left alone. Sometimes it works too well. If you listen closely, it's almost like you can hear the cogs clicking and scuffing around and around. As much as I'd like to have the motion stop, to have the noise withdraw for just a few minutes of silence, it's also what helps me to succeed. Most people might find others that motivate them, but I tend to gather inspiration like vintage clothes. I hold onto things until they become worn out, overused, and then I'll repurpose those things into new items - pillows, rags, bandanas, bags. But, I also want to point out that this whole Locked Box-Mind-Trick thing is hard. For me, I'll build roadblocks and walls and ultimately forget to put in doors. I'll keep myself in degrees of separation from another person just so I can...what? Enjoy myself? No.
There are lines of separation that, sometimes, need to be crossed in order to develop as good, wholly devout people. I, on the other hand, don't let others cross the lines I place before me. I'll be quick to crash through other people's lines, but when the obvious realization becomes clear, I'll take a hundred steps back. I treat myself as if I'm a summer home - a fantastic idea and a fun escape, but ultimately on a timeshare with someone else who somehow gets it 90% of the year. While I use the metaphor of a locked box, I don't want to be off-limits to those who need me, to those who want to know the person hiding somewhere inside.
And so, A Missing Key.
As I traverse this thing called life, I pick up new hacks and tricks and tips. Exercise can help clear your head, and if not, it can at least occupy you for an hour or more. Water is the only liquid, it seems, that people marvel at the amount you drink yet insist it's natural to drink your weight in it. But, even though I watch and listen, I never seem to find those words I'm looking for. The ones that can click into the mechanism and flip open the lid to the box. In fact, I'm not even sure I know what those words are anymore. "I love you" was used as a pry-bar during the duration of my first relationship. "I need you" was used as an anchor to weigh both of us down in relationship two. "I want you" was ultimately the hollow sound that seemed to resonate in me any time I let him touch me. I think what I'm trying to say is that this magical key I'm searching for has been so far misplaced that it might as well be the last copy of the first pope's autobiography. Somewhere along my travels, I've grown accustomed to ignoring my needs in order to forward other things.
Work, Academia, Social Gatherings. My magical All-Cure doesn't exist. So, why do I keep insisting that it's right there in the distance, awaiting my grasp on it? Because if I accept my dissonance, then I can only ever accept that my desires are on the back burner always. If I decide to keep with this idea that things will stay the same forever, I begin expecting low outcomes and weak rewards. But, this Missing Key will find its way back into my life one way or another because I remember a time when I felt only happiness and joy.
Because of One Memory...
I feel a sense of wonder and curiosity that when I reflect on my past relationships, I essentially begin at the branches at the very top, and work my way back into the roots. My mother, my grandmother, a friend, even a rival. Perhaps it's not just one memory, but one memory that has cultivated in the sensation of groundedness that seems to grip me when I'm at my lowest point. I can always rely on my mother, a person of great strength and wisdom, to guide me back from whatever edge I'm leaning over. My grandmother, my source of grace, a woman who always seems to give me a clear picture of what I need to look at. A friend, now a man, who included me in his life when it seemed no one else wanted to deal with my antics as a teen. And the rival, who not only seemed to try to beat me, but ultimately revealed that the relationship between my older sibling and I, though strained, was always there to begin with.
Perhaps nothing makes sense in this, but perhaps something in this does make more sense than I can even know. But, honestly, I can only keep trying to push forward in an attempt to remain stable and balanced. Even if this is a time of great juggling, this too shall pass into a greener spring.
-Brandon
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