Joy Unconfined

Supposedly this is the Year of Self-Redefinition. So says the sage who predicts the theme of the year at precisely 12:01 am New Year’s Day. (I don’t know about this guy… I’m still a little pissed about the prediction for 2007. It turned out to be ALL too true. The Year of Letting Go was the all-time worst year of my life.)

Here we are, half through this Year of Self-Redefinition, and I’m still not… well, anything. Really.

Granted, I am more and more certain of who I am NOT. I suppose that should be at least a little helpful. Still, who and what I am, and where I’m going, not to mention where I am now? Clueless.

For example, I know that the thing that I have been spending all this time going to classes to learn, while still interesting to me, is NOT the thing I wish to do several hours a day for the rest of my natural life. (Which is how long I’ll have to work, given that I’ve managed to get such a late start on the whole “planning for the future” process.)

Ok, so I know what I do NOT want to do. And I will hopefully soon have a piece of paper that says I learned a bunch of things toward being able to do what I don’t want to do.

Hm. So what do I want to do? What do I know how to do? What AM I going to do? I need to figure that out, or soon I will be doing whatever it is while living in my car.

I’d rather not redefine in that way.

In other ways, I can’t help but be clearly redefined, but I didn’t actually manage that all by myself. I am no longer defined as a married woman. I am now a divorced woman. I have to say, I really don’t care for that distinction. (Then again, I wasn’t really all that fired up about the distinction of being a “married woman” either.) Not that there’s anything inherently WRONG with being a divorced woman. Except… personally. It is a personal failure. No matter how I look at it, that’s all I can see. Failure to understand, or put up with things that drove me nuts. Failure to be able to conform into person I was expected to be. Failure to look ahead and see how I would grow and he would grow and how that growing wasn’t in the same direction. Failure to realize that the life I wanted and needed isn’t the one he wanted and needed. Failure. My failure. His failure? Our failure.

Was it a mistake?

How could I possibly think it was a mistake? There were so many good years. We produced such an amazing kid.

I’m still left wondering why we could have failed one another so horribly.

Then there’s the OTHER one. I was certain of that, too. I knew, without doubt, without a question anywhere in my soul that I was loved by someone who truly cared for, understood, and desired me. What is funny… or tragic… or comically tragic… is I reached that conclusion, I truly trusted and believed, completely, finally, deliriously happily, and within 2 weeks of that internal capitulation to what I had been told and pressed to believe… I was abandoned so completely, so cruelly, so callously, that even I – the person who abhors the very idea of taking one’s own life – considered that very final, very silly, alternative to continuing to live a life enduring an unending betrayal, living on without the one perfect match to my temperament, personality, and desires.

Can I view THAT affair of the heart as a mistake?

I have learned so much about myself that I might never have known. I have experienced and understood things that might never have even crossed my mind. It’s true that I can’t help but wonder if I might not have been better off remaining unaware and oblivious. Knowing something is possible, and knowing I will never find its like again is far worse than naivety.

But it has certainly caused some redefinition. I’m no longer sure of myself and my decisions. I don’t know that the things of which I am SO certain, of which I have such conviction and faith, are really true, or real, or good, or right. I just can’t know anymore. I don’t know that the wonder of a moment, or a span of time, or the giving in to a feeling is worth the emptiness once it is gone. And I certainly no longer believe that anything lasts. I used to believe that was possible. Now I know that nothing EVER lasts, no matter how much another person promises to “make it work”. They never are up to the task, no matter how much I give up to please them.

How and where did I fail when I gave everything, every part of my heart, mind, body and soul? Does that really mean that I am JUST NOT GOOD ENOUGH? And honestly… HOW could anyone deliberately fail ME? That’s just an insane thing to think about. I deserve, at least, the ATTEMPT at not failing. Yet, there it is, right in front of my nose, someone deliberately CHOSE to fail me. It’s one thing if it’s inadvertant inability, it’s quite another to choose to fail.

Chalk it up to my more than healthy ego. (And blame it on my astrological sign if you must.) I know what I’m worth, and I know what I deserve, and nothing and no one will ever convince me otherwise. I’m much more forgiving of the person who tries and fails than I am of the person who fails without even making an effort.

I’m not really thrilled with the idea of my Year of Self-Redefinition meaning that I’m now someone so unsure of anything that I’m perpetually undecided, cynical and disbelieving.

But it does sort of look that way.

I don’t WANT to be that chick. I just AM that chick. My choices and the (in my opinion, BAD) choices of others have brought me to where I am now.

Oh… but Joy, dear, don’t give up hope.

You know that expression “hope floats”?

My retort: “So does pond scum.”

I don’t need hope. I need good results. I need what is real, and true, and good, and loving, and right, and caring. I need to see proof.

I don’t need words, or platitudes, condescending and patronizing placation.

Those things don’t make me safe. They don’t keep me warm at night. They don’t feed my belly OR my soul.

Hope doesn’t catch me when I fall. It disappoints me when I hit the ground.

Hope is about as useful as regret. (Something I also make it a point to avoid.)

I want truth. I want reality. Say what you mean, and what you know you’ll mean in two weeks, or two months, or two years. Don’t say what you think you might mean but is open to interpretation and redefinition. Don’t say what you think I should hear, or what will further your interests. If you don’t truly mean it, forever, keep your mouth shut.

Abandon all hope, ye who enter here.
I deal in absolutes.
Hope has no place here.
I’m certainly not going to give you any hope.
I will tell you what I think, what I feel, and what I intend. I expect the same from everyone else in my life.

So… this Year of Self-Redefinition. I’m not sure if I’m redefining, or just returning to who I was years ago. For too long I’ve thrown caution to the wind and allowed myself to believe in the professed intentions of others. And I have been repeatedly disappointed.

Maybe I AM insane. After all, I’ve been trying the same thing, over and over, hoping for different results, and I’m still always hurt and surprised when I get the same old disappointment.

So maybe that’s my self-redefinition. I’m a high-functioning nut job.

This entry was posted on Friday, May 16th, 2008 at 11:31 am and is filed under brain vomit, personal emotional crap. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.