Loss of hope.

How badly do I want to hold on to hope. How badly do I want to embrace it.
It's a tough thing to do sometimes. The world likes to throw you curve balls and sometimes you think they're going one way, you duck, and the ball ends up hitting you right in the goddamned head. You fall to the ground, and if the pitch was fast(and they usually are), it may have done some serious damage. Your skull may be cracked but, more importantly, your psyche might be fucked. Sure, eventually, the physical wounds heal but I can guarantee the next time you come up to the plate and that pitch is thrown, there will be some hesitancy. The moment you step up. The feeling in your stomach will creep up and you just have to swallow it. Some people never recover. Some people can never step up and bat with the same moxie that they had before. Something in them dies when that ball connected.

I remember when I was 13 years old I got in a very bad motorcycle accident. I was in the hospital for quite awhile. It scared the shit out of me, as it did my family and friends. I knew that my Mother never approved of me riding motorcycles in the first, but I remember my Dad telling me that he got the motorcycle all fixed while I was still in the hospital. It was all ready for me when I got out to get back on and ride again. I'm not sure if he knew how powerful that act was but it was my Dad's way of telling me not to let life's little accidents slow you down. You take the hit and get right back up.

I'm not sure if it's related in any way but as I think about all of this I also begin to think about my attitude towards death now. Having had a decent amount of it in my life, as we all do at one point, I've found myself becoming simultaneously empathetic and apathetic towards death. When people tell me that someone in their life has passed, I find myself understanding exactly what they are going through, but I also feel a thousand times removed. As if they are explaining their feelings through a soup can radio. I can hear it, but it's distorted. And distant. I don't like this about me. I don't like that I feel detached from that emotion. And I think it's a self-defense mechanism. To accept that other people have deaths in their life, is to accept that my own Mom is dead. That is something that I'm still dealing with. It's still something that I don't truly want to accept.

Is it the same with love? Do I do the same thing? Am I unwilling to accept the nature of things? The nature of failure? How is it that when things in my life don't work out, I look at it as even more of a challenge but when relationships don't work out I become a pessimist? Almost like I need to adopt my attitude towards my career and carry it over to relationships.

I don't want to meet people and feel hopeless from the get-go. It exists. It happens every day. It happens when you least expect it. It happens when you're not looking for it. But how many people are TRULY not looking for anything? It's always there. In the corner of your mind. Or the front. You just have to embrace the exact moment that you are in. But isn't it difficult to embrace that moment and not look into the future when the moment feels so amazing that you can imagine a million of them back-to-back? This is where I fail. Or, should I say, where I have failed in the past. Maybe I will learn. Maybe through all of the pain of cracked skulls and battered egos I will be able to find my way back to the plate. Stride with confidence to home plate and lift the bat up. And when that pitcher reaches back and is about to release the ball, I will be ready to take a swing with zero hesitancy. And, in that moment, the fears fall away.

Birds and Orchids

To compare birds and orchids --

One has the ability of flight. To fly away at any time and rush back in with force.
One topples the other in terms of sheer numbers and diversity.
Both can be found at just about any place in the world, no matter how severe the conditions.
Both are beautiful, soft to the touch. Silken. Curved edges.
Both have their own means of self-defense.
One blooms and also lays dormant for long periods of time. But it's beauty is still admired through its slumber.
One creates a nest so it can come home to something.
One eats daily, searching the land for new food.
One rests, waiting patiently for the next meal. Getting all it needs in short bursts.
One is calm. And quiet.
One is fast-moving. And often noisy.

They have evolved like everything else.

I sit in a stool and look though a window. A yellow orchid sits in the sill. The sun creates a glow on the petals.
A small bird flies into my line of sight. He is moving his head back and forth with great speed, as if looking for something.
He looks like he is in a hurry. Impatient. Unable to stand still. Ah, the things he must be able to see. His unique view of the world. She basks. She is calm. Breathing. Still. And I, all of a sudden, begin to feel sorry for the bird. If only he could bask. If only he could stop for a moment and breathe. Sitting in all that he has experienced. And I, all of a sudden, begin to feel sorry for the orchid. If only she could fly. If only she could escape the sill and see the world from the clouds. Feeling the rush of energy. To be a bird and an orchid.

The wind touches them both.
The wind leaps over the sill and touches my face.