We’re all the same. In a way. I believe humans share so much of the same qualities. Yet we’re all so isolated from each other, and sometimes our selves. What is this struggle we all live and don’t share?
There was a sobering moment for me in the past few months, when one of my most beloved friends and I had a clear insight into our problems – they’re not special. They’re not unlike any one else’s. They may be new to us, the first time we’re experiencing some sort of monumental adjustment in our otherwise steady line of life.
Boys. Money. Self-hate/love/abuse/obstacle setting. Getting lost, then found and re-lost soon later. We, I, am not the first to feel these pains; to go through this. People talk about how lost they are. At least I do with my friends and family. There are always obstacles and forks in the road. I don’t believe there ever is a clear path for anyone. I mean, I can understand drive and a person determined, but with that comes an array of insecurities, self-doubt and lonely moments.
A self-righteous person is maybe the person to actually take a cue from, for at least if they are that confident and sure of themselves, that’s one step higher than I am, ever. Growing up is a book of lessons, so imagine that book: big, overwhelming, confusing, full of unknown. Then imagine the other half – the lessons learned. They are neatly stacked, filed away and easily accessible and understandable as now you have a personal relationship to each individual lesson.
Some lessons come and are learned solely by years lived, some are not as easily assigned. Like fear and courage. I was thinking about asking for help – I’m moving tomorrow and didn’t ask anyone to help, except my roommates, if they were available. I put a passive and indirect plea on facebook. Knowing full well I would end up doing the majority of it alone. Why? For the notch on my belt of another struggle endured and conquered?
I’ve moved by myself before. Out of a basement unit in Brooklyn to a 3rd floor walk up in Queens. I moved OUT and IN completely by myself. I even rented the truck from Manhattan, drove and took it back the next morning before work – IN THE SNOW. So tonight as I was laying awake, 2 hours after I should have been sleeping, trying to figure the logistics of my ‘rough and torturous’ day tomorrow I realized it wasn’t necessarily for the pride of doing this alone. I’ve proved to myself time and time again that I am an extremely capable woman. It’s really no big deal anymore. It’s a concrete fact in my head.
Now I figure that tomorrow’s just another day. I’ll wake up tomorrow at 7 am, with 8, 3 or 0 hours of sleep. I will go to my god-forsaken-early interview, come back to the apartment to change and clean then head off to start moving my stuff into this apartment. I have the truck for 4 hours. So, already – THERE IS AN END IN SIGHT.
I can stay up hating, rationalizing reasons or ways to make it easier, less or more of whatever but it’s going to get done. Perhaps that’s why I’ve never stressed myself out too much about planning things. When there is a clear end, I’ll get there, somehow. It may be fashioned like the end of any good “gotta get there” movie – arriving in a once prime car but now with out doors, all the glass broken, no roof and half of it on fire. But the protaganists always get there.
Perhaps that is why the ever open, ever variableness of life taunts me. Although the end is death, it’s not in sight. At least not clear sight. At that point the type of person I’ll be and all the things I’ll go through will all be history. So when I die I will know if it was worth it. That’s just not something I can bet on now. At least not the specifics. If I make the decision to make it worth it (and let’s face it I have thus far) then it will be.
I was working on a story arch for one of my books earlier when I realized I just don’t know where I am in my arch. This blog may be silly, but it’s an important piece of my puzzle right now. I’m realizing why I’ve always been drawn to write. It’s to connect people. The human race, we’re all so alike, yet pride ourselves on parading around shouting “I’m different, I’m unique, I’m one of a kind – I’m special!”
No, you’re not. I mean, we all are, because we are cohesive. I want to believe I’m extraordinary. Above the cut of the rest, a gem. When I see someone taking deep, powerful, scary, fear-facing strides towards their goals and I’m still in the same place, running around in circles trying to evade my fears and obstacles instead of defeating them, no I’m not special. I’m small and petty.
I’m starting to get it now. I also get the idiosyncrasies of “being a good person.” How the umbrella of good and evil have small, smaller and smallest divisions and then sub divisions. A cohesive whole, broken and drafted into smaller sub-sections. The same way the human race is laid out. Like a poker game. Each card dealt being another idiosyncrasy. Unique, yet not the only one on the table.
Adventures of the untoward 
Loved reading this piece of you. Notice I said “of you” not “by you”. when you write Duffy, I feel it is your soul on the page. I think we all have trouble asking for help. Somewhere long the line we learned a bizzare untruth that to ask for help means we are “not enough” or “not capable” on our own. SO UNTRUE! This turned around for me when I realized that asking for help is allowing someone else to use their gifts and helping them feel good about themselves…just as we do when we help someone.
Don’t become addicted to the hard life (I know some people who are and the hardness of their life is their own choosing). Reach out, share and let others rejoice in answering you.