You know how they say Disney ruined girls by tricking them into thinking Prince Charming exists? Well books have ruined me, by tricking me into thinking that there's some grandiose plot to life, a meticulously manicured story line all leading to one pivotal moment and definitive ending. I don't know how long I've labored under this illusion, but it's difficult as, as I get older, to come to terms with the fact that it's just not so.
I can remember one specific instance in which the cold splash of reality was thrown in my face. Not in a mean way, but stinging none the less. I had met Gina and Rob at a bar in Elmhurst. Gina had set me up on a blind date (well, blind by today's standards) . No one needs anymore detail than that about the date itself, it was afterward, on the way to eat that my blatant naivete was challenged.
I was telling Gina and Rob why I didn't care for the guy I'd just met and my whining excuses went a little something like: " I don't see myself with someone like that. The guy wouldn't even meet us out, he made us come to his friends birthday party. What does that say about him? We could have picked another night... No, It just doesn't make sense, what kind of story does that make?"
I can't remember any more specifics of what I said, but for the most part I didn't feel like this guy fit into the "grand scheme" I had in mind for how my life should go. I referenced the plot/climax theory to life that I had and well, it didn't go over so well with Rob. (Gina, if you're reading this don't be mad at him, the man makes a good point).
Basically he said that I build the idea of things up to much, that maybe things don't happen like a master plan, they just happen, that I was expecting too much from the situation. He was right, I do tend to do those things, however, in retrospect I still wouldn't want to see that creep again. I mean ultimately I had valid reasons, which I won't go into, but I was still more concerned with trying to fit things into a certain picture I expected to look back at when all was said and done.
I do believe that things happen for a reason, but what I need to learn to do is separate that from the idea that everything is leading into a certain magical direction. Things don't just happen. You have to make them happen, you have to make an effort. It's not as if there is a prewritten ending and we just have to get there; we have to do the footwork, and that ending can change. Or the ending can be nothing more than a silent slipping into non-existence. I still have difficulty accepting that. It makes me angry sometimes thinking, "Well, then what the hell was the point of all that crap I went through, all the progress I made? What was the point of the worrying, the long hours, the heartache? What reason is to be found in all of that if it's not actually getting me anywhere?"
I've been told on more than one occasion that not everything means something. Sometimes they just are what they are, sometimes we place our own meaning on empty things. I do that, I'm waiting for the plot twist, for the seemingly meaningless pieces to fall into place. Like the part of the story where the killer tells his secret plan to the heroine , the part where the girl realizes she loves her best friend instead of the jerk she was dating, or when the coach gives the pep talk to inspire his team to go out and beat their bigger, stronger, better opponent. But waiting won't help, there's no scripted turning point, no last page to read, just to see how it turns out. There's a reason they are called fantasy. Life isn't always nice and tidy, neatly wrapped up in a binding. It doesn't always make sense.
But it's scary to admit that. Because it means you have to take the risks. It means you have to put yourself out there, take things for what they're worth, and build your own story, all by trial and error. Maybe eventually an experiment or two will work, but even then it's not over. Things in life change. Circumstances change. You've got to roll with the punches and make the best of everything.
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