Nothing good comes easy. I would argue that nothing good comes without pain. The best things in life are hard. They are cruel and cold, like the Cascades that greet me. And like climbing a mountain, each precarious step could crumble below you. Yet, these are the things that make us feel alive, that make us human. But they are also the things that can hurt the most.
Unlike the mountains, though, there are no guarantees. The view from the summit may be breathtaking, or it may be nothing at all. Some summits are not to be reached. But we climb anyway, because we are human.
But every climber needs a respite. A place to breathe, a step that doesn’t risk everything. It seems that we are all searching for this, I certainly am. This is beside the point though. All that is to say that all actions should be either be steps towards the summit, or concious moments of rest.
Now where do friendships lie along this spectrum?
When I write these articles, it is a climb. It’s an exercise in self-awareness, in thought organization, and in presentation. Through these, I feel more connected to both myself and to others. Yet, every time I try and touch these waters in conversation, they die.
I once had a friend tell me, directly, to always give them the honest truth. He then asked if a girl was out of his league. She was. Nevertheless, he didn’t want to hear it. In fact, he was convinced he would make it as a model. We stopped talking after.
Was this my own mistake? Did I deliver the message wrong? I’d like to think I was diplomatic, tactical not to step on any toes while delivering “desired” truths. But no, the results spoke.
Last month, I confided some of my struggles to my closest friend. How numb I felt to everything; how I could see the next 70 years of mediocrity sprawled in front of me. The next time we met, her friends tore into me. I laughed and jabbed back, but was taught a lesson. The worst part is, despite this, she still told me to stay open.
At the end of the day, I’ve realized something. I don’t need to be understood, even if I find myself seeking understanding. The longing is deep, but deceptive. Being understood is just a ploy for validation. It feels good, it stokes the ego, but it doesn’t progress you. On the contrary, I’ve done a lot of things for validation, to be understood, that degrade me. I’ve prioritized this and others above myself for the majority of my life. Now, I’m lost. I’m a captain in a peaceful night. Fog surrounds me as I stare into the distance. No form lies ahead, no distinction, yet we sail on. The calm of the sea is tentative, thunder rumbles in the distance and the crew lies ready for mutiny. I pretend to chart a course.
Never take these writings as a plea. They aren’t. Nor are they a way for others to understand me. They are my footsteps. Snapshots of thoughts, beliefs half formed, ideas picked up and later discarded. Maybe if I know where I’ve come from, I can find out where I’m going.