Problems

There's a strange simultaneity to most things isn't there? An inbuilt antagonism to almost everything. Everything lives with its own antithesis. A system that subverts itself. Calm and cacophony. Rest and restlessness. Chocolate laxatives? The way things change, and the way they stay the same. All our transgressions and the way we accept them. Our strengths, and the way we reject them. Our virtues and how we detest them.

When I say "we" I should being saying "me". Sometimes it's easier not to judge yourself, if you're already judging everyone.

We think we want solutions, but we don’t know what we need. We don’t know a damn thing.

And, by "we" I mean "me". Sometimes it's easier to project your plight on to the plural. It means you don't have to tell yourself the things you'd rather not say.

It's not so much a solution we're looking for. It's closure. It's a resolution. Clarity. It's hard to decide which is worse, getting the things you don't want, or wanting the things that will never be.

And by "you" I still mean "me". And by "worse" I mean the shitty, lose/lose, parts of reality that you can't stand either way. And by "reality" I mean mine. I'm sure yours is fine. Sometimes the bitter pill is easier to swallow if you can prescribe it to someone else.

We hope for a life that's laundered and freshly pressed. Crisp edges. Precision creases. Everything in it's place and aligned. Organized and tucked in. All hotel corners and disinfectant spray. Something pine scented, or citrus, or lavender. Something neat. Something clean. Does it spark joy, or whatever? That's what we're supposed to say. We're glad to take the life-changing magic of anything. If it promises to tidy-up the cluster-fuck that we've become.

And of course, when I say "we" I mean "me". And by "cluster-fuck" I mean everything. It's easier to keep your complaints and clutter when you can say you're holding them for a friend. Sometimes it's easier to point out the speck in everyone else's eye. If you don't have to acknowledge the hoarder's cabin in your own.

But of course, by "your own" I'm only referring to me.

We think we want things tied up tight. But all we really want is to avoid the loose ends. The world is full of them. Problems, crises, messes, debris. Climate change. Deforestation. Bigotry. Misogyny. Income disparity. Racial inequality. Exes. Republicans. Or, even worse, exes that are Republicans. Nuclear fallout is a viable solution, sure. But we should try to court a few other options before we launch anything.

And by "we" I mean "me" again. It's easy to forget that real freedom from suffering, real liberation, isn't a life without problems. It's deciding which ones to devote yourself to.

Perfection is a vinyl covered couch and disposable booties for your shoes. It comes with a collection of severed heads in your freezer. And enough bleach to take up any suspicious red stain. Free UV light included. Just pay shipping and processing. It's a life spent holding your breath and motionless. A perfect specimen. Floating in the hush of isopropanol. Suspended in your own sterility.

When I say "we" I'm referring only to myself, but it resonates with you. Sometimes it's easy to miss the fact that discovery happens in the overlaps. That redemption is matter out of place. We need the grit and the grime. The way that grace overflows and spills.

There's a strange simultaneity isn't there? An antagonism. A subversion. An antithesis, if you will. The proof of our poor choices. The sight of our own bullshit. The evidence of how stupid we've been.

Every bad tattoo. Every late night drive thru. The mornings after realizing it didn't even seem like a good idea at the time.

The wrong places, the wrong lovers, the wrong jobs, the wrong friends. The mistakes you'll spend the rest of your life trying to take back. All the stories you'll never be able to retell. Not without your face in your hands. Not without gritting teeth.

It's the proof that we were here. That we lived. That there's room for us to grow, chances to try again and again, opportunities to make amends.

It should be implied that when I say "we", I mean "me", but I hope I'm reminding you. Sometimes it's easier to make things a little better when you know you're not alone.

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