The Learning Curve

It's hard to believe I was once so patient with the sky. Afternoons spent watching the clouds drift slowly, shades of orange and yellow settling into the darkest purple until finally the greens and navy settled deep and heavy into the mountains. How had my life gone from such a luxurious, observant pace to a hurried time lapse? My life instead was moving forward suddenly in gaps, days beginning with the pale blue and pink sunrise and ending in flat, one dimensional outlines of clouds and trees, sometimes barely traceable, blackness. My apartment’s porch light has become a beacon – bright, comforting, home.

I keep reflecting back on my life ten years ago, five years ago because 2005 and 2010 have become cornerstones in my memory, headstones if you will, for the men from my past who helped define these eras. It’s a repeating mental journey that traces and highlights certain moments as if I’m studying them from a textbook. Maybe I’ll be better when I’m older. Maybe I’m too old to change. A funny mantra I keep tossing back and forth, trying to reconcile my personal errors with intentional mistakes. I find myself wondering if 2015 will be the same. 

But I give them too much credit. I’ve grown too much on my own the past few years to take a step back and attribute it to people who have used me. I’m not preoccupied with my mistakes or theirs, I’m actually more preoccupied lately with mortality. The mortality of relationships, of lives, of how I factor in meaning into a life that barely has any. Of the everyday march towards the little “deaths” we cause for ourselves. Of dynamics and chemistry, consequences and desire, long term vs short term, investments vs immediate satisfaction. Growing, regressing. Waiting for “right” moments, indulging in the “wrong”. Figuring it all out. 

I’ve had a lot on my mind about the past year. It’s been hard to determine the correct moral compass for a compromised belief system. Things change when you find someone who challenges everything you’ve known in the past because the mind has been trained to accept the casualty that will undoubtedly happen – the simple relationship of point A and point B, eventual demise, the eventual transgression, the expiration date, the other woman. 

But I’m the one this time with the small acts of sabotage. I don’t know if I can help it. The anger and spite I feel towards the past decade surfaces and overcomes me, strangles my inhibition, fuels my narrowing outlook. I want only the absolutes – devotion, adoration, love, unconditionally. A romantic tyrant. But I, myself, have proven unworthy. Time and time again. Why would I be deserving of any better? 

The current problem. A cyclical idea. A moment lingering between five year eras in a short life span. An unreliable foundation. The basis for a self esteem. The memory I hold on to. The memory I wish was gone.