Monday, June 15, 2009

Moving on... letting go

Last night, I had a brief Facebook exchange a member of my favorite morning radio program (http://brantsblogofawesomeness.typepad.com/). At the time I was being silly and going for the laugh. This afternoon, attacking the freakish disorder of the master bedroom while trying not to get lost in a comparable mess of thoughts, something Pablo said knocked over a certain pile of jumbled memory and stuck.

"Sometimes I think knowing too much makes you worry about stuff more. Ignorance truly is bliss."

D'oh.
I get it.
No, really... I get it.

In all my collective years of blogging, countless hours have been spent trying to convince myself to chronicle various periods of my life. Far more emotional energy than I care to admit spent trying to work up the courage to pick apart every detail of the years after diagnosis and before blogging.

Why?
no, really... why?

Lyn once asked me if the details mattered as much as the effect. At the time, I accepted the statement and applied it only to the topic at hand.

On one hand, I like the knowing. It's always preferred over the fog and haze that covers so many things. But life doesn't give us perfect clarity.

I've always liked my puzzles. There's no doubt, chasing memory is like solving a puzzle.

Is it really necessary to cover every square inch of my life in detailed description? To what purpose?

Is it the desire to know more than to accept? Is it habit? Is it a masochistic need to revisit the painful? Is it a desire to pat myself on the back for the change since then or some guilty need to expose just how screwed up I was at the time?

At one time I could have easily convinced myself it was part of a desire to encourage others... if I could detail the walking clusterf@#& of my existence, I could offer hope to others they could get past their own struggles.

I'm not so certain of such altruism anymore. The reality is I'd rather get lost in details... hide in the details than look at the bigger picture. Every moment I spend untangling memories is a moment not spent in the present. It's just another way to hide.

I was a mess then. Now, not so much. Still learning, still struggling, still fighting.

Sure, there are things that will come up and should be written rather than worried... sure there are times to look to the past... but every quiet moment? It might be easier to move forward if I release the death grip on the past.

So I don't remember everything. Who does? If it comes, it comes.

But I'm done looking.