If
I followed my impulses as readily as my natural inclination to
question it would lead, in the commitment of the act or in the
fullness of time, to tangles. And probably worse than those in my
thick curly hair, because even those that I do follow through on
result in knots. That, I'm almost sure of (there's room for doubt),
since if was only my hair in question I know the comb would find them
and whilst there'd be a bit of yanking they would with some
impatience and brutality be brushed out. Start at the ends; yes, but
you can't do that with life.
Actions
that begin with or from good intentions have a habit of breaking
down, splitting into different choices, or growing matted with
unforeseen and unimagined complications. And that's after I've paused
or suffered a delay. There's no remedy like that of an untangling
spray, not that I've found anyway.
There's
no reliable place in which to start to prevent a split or solve a
knot, unless you choose the 'permanent knock-it-on-the-head
solution': to break it, the situation, by force, although even as you
do so you may feel less resolute than tired, because it's dragged on,
grown in size, as to whom or what it involves, and introduced doubt.
Like a hair-band caught in your hair that has to be cut out, this is
the only way to remove exhausting friction, of the internalising
kind, and restore tranquillity.
It
may not be in your best interests to approach the dilemma,
opportunity, in this manner, but returning things to as they were
overrides the external benefits that might have been had. The
negatives were at the forefront anyway; had taken centre stage and
brought terror. Not that whenever I've reacted and acted this way
it's been rashly done. No, it's always been a very considered affair.
I have my justifications, though everyone else, those they pertain to
and those I tell, struggle to comprehend them.
I
wish that in itself didn't matter so much, but it does. There's
nothing worse than doubting yourself when others don't get where
you're coming from, and you wonder how much energy you should put in
to get them to. The frustration this leads to once something has
already been done is not worth it, not really, and yet we all want
our fellows to understand us. That they can't or just plain won't is
a barrier to communicating fluidly. Words get more jagged or laced
with invective. Or there's a reluctance to engage, on both sides.
Words falter and fail.
What
can people say anyway? It will never be exactly right. Perhaps in
those circumstances our expectations of each other is wrong. People
can't always know what to say: they will back you but won't
altogether mean it, which you'll hear, or they'll choose not to
listen and instead utter reassuring noises. Isn't that enough?
Usually.
But when life has become a course of zigzags, you want more. You're
not sure what you want people exactly to say (as perhaps there's
nothing left of note that's different to what's been said before) yet
you hope, faintly, they might provide insight or clarity, rather than
answers, and put what's occurred into context somehow. Make you see
you've missed something or there's another angle you hadn't
considered or could be working on. Whether you take their suggestions
seriously largely depends on your mood and how they're framed. Yes,
in spite of the want, that hope, maybe none of us should articulate
our feelings on another's experience. Because is it ever truly given
objectively? Isn't everything coloured by our history? and moreover
as we gather more experiences to us a perspective once thought firm
may alter beyond recognition.
If
only I could act impulsively before second thoughts take hold. And
stay schtum rather than go looking for approval after: have I done
the right thing?, and then look for holes. Or to take the hair
analogy further: nits, those that stubbornly cling to individual
strands. Circumstances and timing, however, are often outside your
control, so when I begin to waver I automatically think: maybe it's
no bad thing. My mind, although certain at the time and aglow with
the taking, or even just the thinking, of affirmative action and its
possible outcomes has lit up its uncertain regions, for good (and
obvious) reasons that I, in the flood of impulse, neglected.
Picture credit: Girl Combing Her Hair, 1892, Edvard Munch
All posts published this year were penned during the last.
