Your Other Half

I feel able to write something, but unlike with my previous entries, I have no set course as I type this out. Only a vague notion, really.

I went for a walk outside tonight. The weather is great right now and the scent of the air by the lakeside brought back a lot of good memories of times where I was amidst friends, near a fire, and free to ponder aloud. I think this might be a bit like that.

One thought drifted through my head as I was walking: 'There isn't enough victory in my life.' It was an odd sort of "statement" to hear yourself think before you immediately know what it all means. People love victories, it's true (even if that is a line from Gladiator). Your sports team should win, your political party get elected, your God triumph over evil, your child get first prize at the science fair. Your love endure all trials. People love victories, yes. I don't think I am an exception.

My life isn't all failure, please don't misunderstand. That's not what I'm getting at. I have plenty of good, for which I am all manner of grateful. But there are places where I want to win... and I want to win in all the places I sincerely feel I am getting shit-kicked in.

Now this is where it's probably evident how much I contribute to my own complex of defeat. When do I feel like I'm being shit-kicked? Pretty much every time I watch/read a news related piece of media (even fake news, for two minutes), everytime someone close to me is in pain or trouble, and yes, even pretty much every time I have a conversation with... well almost anybody. Sounds extreme, doesn't it?

Why is it like this, you ask? Why do I look at things like this? It's because of what constitutes a victory for me.

My victories are your victories. People's victories. People's joy. People do not share their joy enough with others. When times get us down we want comfort, and we're concerned with just how we'll fare if we go without it. So, we share our grief with others so that we can continue on and come to joy once more. But, when we come to joy, we do not usually have this same compulsion to share. We think maybe other people don't want to hear about how happy we are. Maybe they'll say, "So what?" Maybe they won't understand our joy, because the same kinds of things don't make them happy. Or maybe when we're happy, we're just content, or even just selfish enough to feel we can 'do this' (joy) on our own.

But I beseech you, any and all of you: For the love of all things that make life worth living, share your joy. Don't just tell people you're happy. Write poems. Paint fucking murals. Do cartwheels, give hugs. Beam. Just do it sincerely and commensurately with your joy, and make no apologies. There is nothing I want more in life than to share life with you, as best I can. I want to share your grief, but please, put the same kind of urgency, the same effort into 'purging' your happiness outwards, because I need your victories. I need your wild, passionate, exhilirating victories. To me, they are nearly as vital as breath.

I have ever been the kind of person to love others amidst their grief and vulnerability. I take pride in this, and it will never change. But there is another half of you that I wish to love just as actively. Temper it not.