Trying to explain progress, letting go of things and being okay with the divergence of lives as they move along their perspective paths is hard; almost impossible, especially when the people you’re talking about, and explaining these things to, play important roles in your story. There’s a lot of quiet space, filled with thought and the careful construction of concepts, what you’ll say next and how to put these together in a way that won’t cause everything to collapse or explode. The places filled with words are fueled by emotion and energy; tinder just ready for a spark. And there you sit, in the center of attention with a magnifying glass focused down and sunlight beaming through the lens; nowhere to go and the whole conversation compressing the air around you.
It’s a shit situation. Best you can do is not combust and chew through a panic of closed spaces while focus tightens or pops.
I took my own mouthful of this, chewed thoughtfully and spit words, once; had to use my own metaphor to make the whole thing build into a kind of sense that wouldn’t seem like a lie because, in truth, I wasn’t lying.
I’m claustrophobic. Not the “scream, claw, shit yourself” kind. I’m more the “it starts in your head, gains weight, sinks to your pit then grows into your chest and detonates” kind. For me it feels like anxiety; unpleasant arguments between intelligence and instinct until one or the other gets tired and lets the more persistent win. Because I often find myself in tight places, uncomfortable places, I’ve learned to live with the argument and let it be background while present necessity dictates the work and needs at hand.
So it is with time. Temporal Claustrophobia–a fear of being caught in a small space of time. Believe when I tell there are many points in my past that snag and catch; where I could stay and analyze with the over-critical sight of “should” and “would”. My being there won’t will that decision to change. I cannot make a new future for a past self in a moment of reflection. Only thing I can do about what was is not repeat it, should a mirror of that time show itself again.
Past. Tough shit, pick up your skirt, watch the nails and move along. Should another body I care about decide to be involved with another body from my past? All they’re doing is making a future for themselves. Letting that get me stuck in my own failure won’t help, and it certainly isn’t a blessing on the people seeking their own happiness!
Move on by and let be.