There is so much uncertainty surrounding me as a human being that it’s almost miraculous to think that there are some certainties at all.
For instance, you can almost bet money on my wake-up time of approximately 6 a.m. every day, if only because this is what my body dictates. You can also be sure that I’ve paid my credit card bills off at the end of each month — my FICO report told me today that I’ve never made a late payment in my life, just for good measure.
Where I will be at any given time, however, is one of the most pressing uncertainties about me as a person. Up until this week, the U.S. Postal Service (and therefore, the U.S. government) believed I was living in Massachusetts. This has been incorrect for at least a full month.
At the same time, a group of people looked at me curiously around a table yesterday at brunch upon discovering just how little time I’ve resided in my newfound home of Colorado. When asked if I liked living here so far, what was there to say? I’m barely here, according to those who now meet me, yet I’m no longer there (“there" being New England).
It only recently occurred to me that even those who know me best (and by that, I can only define as the longest) are having a difficult time fully grasping where I am, as well as who I’ve become. I don’t think any of them are being condescending or judging my choices up to this point, but I cannot continue to ignore the obvious.
People say they won’t treat you differently after something cataclysmic has occurred, but I think what they’re really trying to say is, “I will do my best not to judge you.” Once you’ve reached a certain age [like I have], it’s all you can really ask for, which is to say that I have great appreciation for the ones currently in my life.
What I’m finding, however, is “I will do my best not to judge you” differs depending on the situation. Finding yourself confronted with that statement after dyeing your hair a new color is drastically different than once you’ve moved halfway across the country without notice.
I’m now in a horrifying position where I can do nothing but remind myself that, at the end of the day, all anyone is really concerned about is themselves. We can deny it all we want, but anything beyond the faces we see every day — which are limited and fairly consistent — spends no more than three minutes in our minds. This, of course, does not mean that we do not have compassion or empathy for others. It does mean that you can bring yourself to the brink of psychosis by concerning yourself with the past, though. What’s done is done, and the sooner you trust in that fact, the closer you get to relieving yourself of the ghosts haunting your mind.
For the time being, it seems that I will remain in this haunted house.
