Hello friends. Another post with little direction but a sign post above: “forcing things.”
Perhaps you’d add your own commentary before reading mine. Maybe not – maybe you’d be forcing it! The same as awkwardly responding to a meme from a friend’s phone. It could be funnier to deadface say it’s not funny at all.
There’s always that line between honesty and pain. White lies as fabric stitching our interactions. Be careful not to turn it all tainted until you’re the fibby bookkeeper. Since acquiring the title I can only advise my juniors to prepare for a distance between everything. You can advance to manager and send me off to get coffee if you’re determined enough!
Some white lies carry a squirmy effect, anathema toward those infected, branded: streak birthmark cynicism crawling along ribcage and threading ‘round the neck to act up whenever something too “squeaky clean” careens around. Like using someone’s name in an exaggerated manner, or well wishes that tilt a little much toward a sparkled lake, bubbled tea meeting. Christmas cards. Maybe with enough suds such disgruntled flare ups shall be tamed.
Maybe with enough scrubbing one could admit wrongly labelling it all as a lie. It’s a shame, really. Why can’t one emphasize with a name, dear Reader! It seems to be a scar to consider it as anything less. That’s what’s amusing about white lies: ambiguity. Saying things outloud sometimes transforms it into the limbo-land of half-truths soon be full. What was once a lie may very well be a truth tomorrow. And in some cases, the lie can be more real than the real thing – to where imitation engages in a patricide, disfiguring its predecessor into its own liking.
Though it seems untenable, some personalities genuinely use these expressions, dear reader! What’s a white lie to one is a full on reality for another. Maybe the white lie is just another label to shoo away the things we determined improbable from our own inner makeup. That’s okay too.
Big smiles and wide hugs at first greeting, simple “I love you(s)” littered yet embedded in reinforced understanding: belonging. Maybe such things ought to bake in, wiggle into your methods – bake over the blemish of a bashful demeanor or a condescending wounded heart. “Get real!”
Well, however you want to approach our game of greetings, emphasis and meetings: let’s welcome it all. Even the Eeyore archetype has a place in the harmony of things. Not as though that’s for us to say.
There is one thing for us to say though: let’s maybe not force anything. If you’re going to threaten me with a knife, then maybe that’s the script we need to go down in this section-of-play. Whatever act we’re in.
If we’re going to be abandoned between metropolises, if we’re going to agonize on our snack selection – always a duel between trail mix and cheetos – or if we’re going to abstain from all sweets, then let’s see.
Forcing things rarely seems to work out. Burns you out. Often romanticized in any movie montage, so the character pushes through and up their cobbled stairwell(s). But it seems like that was already decided before all the prefrontal pain.
It seems like one’s accomplishments derive from your very being. And one can adopt the being of believing these things come otherwise – so the 5 a.m. alarm clock rings affirmatively – though it seems to be the same outcome, just with more prefrontal pain.
Strapping on the badge of the Inertist is a surefire way to enjoy the days a bit more simply.
If it means failing your post-doc, dropping out of respectable employments, being a parasite – if it means being the scoundrel hovering the beer aisle for another fix, in a way there’s a harmony in these things.
Instead of the Inertist, some may see it all as Calvinist. Whichever camp you’ll ascribe, I assure you that even if it feels distasteful – as though you’re fated to endure a condemned existence, or yearn for nights abroad from your bum-stick nowhere living – I assure you that, however those emotions mix around, they’ll churn and crystallize into your beings of next day. Even if you vehemently disagree with the don’t-force-it outlook, it seems your process shall evolve all the same. Just with more prefrontal pain.
Maybe you can dip your toes in, forget the clocks, enjoy the water reflecting. No point rushing Nature. You’ll miss a midsummer bloom otherwise.