I was talking briefly with a friend of mine tonight, and in between my efforts to assure them that they were doing beautifully, and as much as they hurt these days, the brilliant leaps and bounds they’ve been making in the last year are something to celebrate, they said something which struck a chord in me that I couldn’t ignore anymore.

The problem with us is that we’re not sweat pants wearing, burger king scarfing, beer drinking ordinary people. We’re so much more than that. And we’re not happy, or satisfied when some lonesome slob in a beige velour pull over offers us one of their french fries. [color=#777777]would you like a fry?[/color] We want a lot more.

Christine’s mother says it perfectly:

“I realized when I was in high school that I was just smart enough to be discontent.”

What’s not said is that while we’re bright enough to see that there’s more in the world, this in no way assures us that we are actually smart enough to step out from within the confines of our circumstances. Only enough to see the walls around us, and the blue sky of distant shores. The unstated message is that ignorance is bliss. And maybe it is. I wouldn’t know.

As complex, moody, bright, deep, and powerful people we allow intruders into our lives at one point or another [color=#777777]usually when we are having a fit of inexplicable amnesia[/color] and they assume that we are who we are (what you see is what you get) and that’s the way we’ll always be.

I’ll never forget the look on Denise Morilla’s face when she realized that I was happy. We had been making love, and whispering stories for weeks. It was really lovely. Before I was so deeply and terribly sad. After a couple of years nursing a serious heartbreak this generous, loving and very intelligent woman took me into her life and we sipped gardenia water and read poetry. But after several weeks of this misery I was so light, and felt so awake. My face hurt from smiling like when you’ve over enthusiastically blown too hard into one of those teeny tiny balloons.

Frankly she couldn’t stand the happy version of me, and from about seventeen minutes after she realized that there was more than morose intercourse in the confines of my heart I never saw her again (by her explicit request.)

This begs the question: What will you do when you begin to shine? Who will love you then? If you love me now, while I’m smiling, why don’t you love me when I need you the most? If you adore the cynical heart of my inner child, you are gonna love the poetic gentleman in my mouth. [color=#777777]Yeah, right.[/color] And I am already broken, bitter and a complete stranger to myself from all previous editing. There is nothing left to cut off, or cut out. [color=#777777]I’m terribly sorry, you’ll have to modfy someone else.[/color]

We are a different breed of creature. We are not so easily culled, nor smitten with anything or anyone. I am a strong man, a quiet man, I am fragile and I never shut up. The paradox is simple, and the solution is only time.

Time and autonomy.