Monday, June 27, 2011

Chalking it up to Fate

I believe, strongly, in fate. When my mother got pregnant at twenty years old, it wasn't teenage indiscretion, it was fate (I was born). When some asshole kicked a soccer ball directly into my face, it wasn't his own inability to aim properly, it was fate (I couldn't be a soccer player). When I didn't I have enough money to go to New York for the summer, it wasn't ridiculous pricing, it was fate (New York would have me later in life). I believe that universal forces guide us in our intended directions, whether or not we're consciously aware of this subliminal guidance. I believe that despite our own free will, we cannot miss our fate, one way or another, it will befall us.
It is easy, though, to profess belief in all these divine concepts; it is not easy, however, to realize what you want and what is meant are not the same paths. Fate is a funny, cruel trick; we are taught that we will meet one person and we will know and then, we will love them forever. However, somewhere between life, family, friends, school, jobs, games, lies, disagreements, and passion, this fate proves to be a difficult conquest. You meet people, you get to know them, you make decisions, you form ideas, you care for them, it works, it falls apart, it is just another stepping stone, another brick in your wall, another learning experience.
What happens though, when you meet someone who you think is more than a stepping stone, when you meet someone who moves your soul, who broadens your heart, who affects your every thought...what happens when your love for them is not enough to hold them in your life...what happens when the universe has other plans for your life, plans you don't know if you want.
You breathe. You stop thinking, considering, imagining, reliving, regretting. You inhale and then, you exhale. You let go, you let air and life and water and love back into your system. You stop fighting the inevitable, you just float.
They tell you that it will feel better, they promise this. They tell you everything happens for a reason, that what is meant to be, will be. I don't know if these things are true, but I believe them when they tell me. I believe that I have a path already mapped out, I just have to find my way along it. I believe that I am doing the right thing, no matter how hard it is, no matter how bad it hurts.
I believe that in some place, maybe another world, maybe another time, there is a you and there is a me, and they last and last and last, going on loving eachother better than anyone else could, happily unaffected by outside forces. Whenever I find a snowglobe, I will look for us inside. Until then, I'm just going to keep breathing.

Sunday, June 5, 2011


There has always been that joke, "Why did the chicken cross the road?" Of course, whether or not the chicken died, flew, or just wanted to get to the other side has never quite been determined. Why are animals always crossing the road? Don't they see their counterparts in pieces, scattered morbidly across dotted yellow lines? Shouldn't there be some instinctive sense of survival? Wouldn't you think that one brutalized, furry baby would be enough to never make you want to cross the street again?
But then I think about people. Humans are, supposedly, the most evolved members of the kingdom, Animalia. We are earth's representation of all things intelligent and revolutionary; yet, we too are always getting run over.
I wonder what makes risk-taking such a tempting practice. Nine times out of ten, I can predict the sorted outcome of my actions. I know the tears, the disappointment, the pain, the regret that could come with each of my decisions. I know what a smart girl would do, what a good girl should do; yet, sometimes, I find myself running out in front of cars.
There is a sort of screwed-up romanticism about doing stupid things. Being stupid is rarely recognized for what it is. We call it "living in the moment", "going out on a limb", and even, "being young." But in reality, we know better. We all know what happens when you lie to your parents and when you trust someone who makes you uneasy. We all know the difference between love and lust and the difference between right and wrong. Sometimes, though, the chance that our stupidity could result in happiness outweighs the negative consequences.
We cross the road because there's always that hope that it will end in the love story of a lifetime. We cross the road because we want to tell our daughters stories that make them proud. We cross the road because who wants to be the girl that never leaves her the safety of her front porch? We cross the road because it looks magical on the other side. We cross the road because we're ignorant enough to believe that nothing can hurt us. We cross the road because we want to. We cross the road because we know we shouldn't.
Maybe getting run over, falling into the traps, winding up hurt, tire-skidded, laden with regret and shame, is a punishment. But I don't think so. I think we cross the road because we think we have a shot at being the lucky girl; you know, the one whose heart never touches the ground. I think that risk-taking is a beautiful, complicated art; maybe we're not supposed to, but what is 'supposed to be' isn't what ever really happens. So maybe we are stupid, naive, pathetic excuses for women; I'd rather have scars than baby skin.
The bottom line is: there is no bottom line, no logic, no reason, no effort, no calculation that goes into making our decisions. We're all just trying to write the best biography that we can and in the mean time, running out of our daddy's arms and into traffic. There isn't much time in life to worry about being the best; most of the time you're just trying to avoid becoming roadkill.