I faced my first real failures in my early twenties. Things weren’t looking how I’d planned them too. A brand new dystopian dreamscape had stolen realities place. Unfold into a story which until now has been left untold. With an eight-year military contract underway, and drudging through not one but two unfulfilling degree paths day after day, I was well on my way to become a textbook case of insanity.
At a certain point, I remember clearly, coming home from a night of serving beer. Flopping down onto my bed exhausted, and feeling completely out of my head, lost in the sauce of being human. So many questions, demons muddying the water before me.
Besides honors in basic training and pursuing excellent physical fitness, I had no idea what I was doing…
The mental battle that ensued during the next few years left me black and blue, confirming misconceived truths. The kind leaving in their wake, injuries that like to play endless games of Clue with pawns who dare to search for better outcomes than the cards given them. A rat race quickly devolving into me against my environment and in turn all of you.
I’ve since found that’s just how fear operates, it turns discussions into heated debates, raising stakes and taking names with a vengeance collecting ammo for maintenance and security, far be it from me, to use the knowledge I gain against its giver, I’m no lily liver, I’ll take what you tell me to the grave, a characteristic that’s been my saving grace. A reminder that against all else, I can trust myself.
In light of losing drive toward the goals that had left me feeling more dead than alive, I’d been inclined to begin rebelling against shoes altogether since none of the ones given seemed fitted for me to live in permanently.
Shiver
“Maybe those high heels work for you, I prefer my combat boots.” I found myself thinking this often just to get me through the monotonous routine delivered by nine-to-five realities that continually ensued. Stuck between gritting my teeth through classes riddled in hard-nosed sure footed opinions, only to shift into the bar scene and serve cold drinks to lonely hearts. Look back I’m fond of the lessons I brought out with me, the people I was able to meet.
But each of them seemed to be settling into a series of cyclical truths rather than pursuing the more turbulent roots some would rather stick with a window view.
Throughout my own versions of early adult life-lessons, I learned to approach each new acquaintance with preconceived gratitude rather than an attitude toward what they might appear to be. I am reminded what my bearings are for whenever I lose them I care for them more.
Respect and honor are key to accessing the greater realities presented to me. Talking will never render the same results as the art of doing and acting out a better scene.
The Inkling 