Words Worth.

An interesting question was rhetorically posed to me the other day: Is there anything that simply isn't worth it? I immediately answered yes. My friend looked at me, smiled and said, "What?" And so I thought, again such a dangerous activity to provoke...it all depends on one's personal definition of worth. Is it furtherment in one's life, either socially, emotionally, physically or monetarily? Is it improving the standing of an object or individual? Is it both? Neither?
If I count worth as experience, then yes there is very little that just "isn't worth it," when experience is defined as gaining a better understanding of oneself and the world surrounding them. Every interaction, be it for the better or for the worse, has the ability to teach us something about ourselves, our actions, our interpretations, the way we love, etc. So just about anything we do can fall into the category of being "worth it" because, as hindsight increases, the full implications of that action/interaction becomes more clear.
But what if worth isn't just experience, but experience with purpose, like committing to something knowing full well what the consequences or outcomes are going to be? If that idea holds true then mistakes can never garner enough value to ever warrant being considered worth it; a flub and the consequences of it are totally random and thus whatever worth they may have was just a random byproduct. In that case, hardly anything is worth it.
Regardless, I'm still milling my way through this idea: what in my life was simply not worth it? If by denouncing the worth of whatever experiences fall into that category, am I condemning myself by not being content with where I am currently? Obviously those experiences had some sort of influence on me; am I rejecting that impact? Ugh this makes my head hurt. Going to go play outside, and live to not regret it later.

Much Obliged

I was talking to a dear friend of mine today who was expressing frustration over a current realtionship; I echoed with problems with friends and discovered our mutual predicament. More then failure, more then lonliness, more then scandal, more then almost anything--the one thing I do not want to ever be is an obligation to another person. I don't want to be the relationship that exists because it always has, I don't want to be the friend I hang around with simply beause I'm too tired to meet anyone else. I don't think there are too many people in the world who stand up and say, "Oooh ooh can I be an obligation, PA-LEEZE???" and so I see no overarching need to discuss such a topic ad nauseam; however my inner monologue is bursting forth in such a form that I cannot quell it unless it can be captured elsewhere, and that elsewhere is here. If it's boring, skip to the next one.
ANYWAY---
When a close friendship/relationship gets to that rocky time when it seems that the option to go or stay much be weighed carefully, what makes someone stay when it is clear that they should let go? Is it their own fear, or is it their percieved obligation for that other person? Perceived obligations can rapidly become wellsprings for the ego. Is that other person "too weak" to take the news? "Too broken" to heal from another wound? "Too needy" to be able to let go? "Too angry" to ever take it constructively? Regardless of the reason, it is more damaging to stay and ride it out till its last breath than it is to give up the ghost and walk away with a bit of the empathy still intact. Bitterness is more the jagged pill to swallow then honesty ever will be. But then again, when should one stick it out, tough up and stay? How does one distinguish? Can the problems be talked out, or are they best left unsaid, untouched and unopened, filed into the Archives of What Could Have Been? I don't know, but I do know that clarity brings to light the burdens we so often did not consider ourselves obliged to carry.

Heaven??

Today walking home from taps week i dropped a quarter. "A quarter from heaven!" My friend joked. I cynically shot back, "It's a quarter from my F$@kin' pocket, there is no heaven, goodnight." and marched into my house, my cynisim driving the wheels of my geography. When did I start to think this way? I know there is a heaven; each day I regard such a place and such a proper noun with regard and reverance...yet lately I begin each day with a plea for purpose--for a reason to get up, for a task to be completed, for anything. Each day is a floating island, not admonishing or encouraging, merely pulsating. I am so tired. I have job offers; I am a lucky one. But my job offers are not in careers, merely enjoyments. They will be sick of me, be rid of me and be erased of me within two years, I shall bet money on it. I am a two year type of person--people find me delightful for the first 24 months, then disgusting for the 24 after that. It's just the way my life has panned out; I have no reason why. I want so desprately to know heaven--to know what is expected, what is desired and what is directed; but no words come. I am alone in this regard. And I am tired to the point that denouncing seems more reasonale then defense. Not a good situation to be in!
I shall write more when my head is attached---

1,000 Steps (4.3.03)

The first time I was here
18 turns and we just saw "Deliverance"
And we walked
I didn't know where
He did--he was older
Older and wiser
I was Doe-eyed
So proud of it--oysters everywhere
But the lights seemed so optimistic
Like flight was expected
If you could just clear the trees.
The second time I was here
We'd lost our one token friend
Who should have been a block away
But wasn't.
And no arms held on
I knew where I was
Cause I was older
But he wasn't.
The third time I was here
With a man I could not love
I don't know why
But that night sky
Speckled snow with suggestion
of reflection
Like my memory--
Not wise, just going
Like 1,000 steps to the daily trek
Of 1,000 know-it-alls
That I somehow bypass.
The fourth time I was here
I am now
Not 22 and still no deliverance
And I pace
To I don't know why
I'm not--but I am--older
Jaded
Squinty, shifty and still more trusting
Then four years could have seen
And so ashamed
I'd lie to gain just a bit
of that doe-eyed back
But the lights still seem oh so optimistic
Like flight was expected
If I could just clear these trees
But how far are the trees west of here?
I crush out my 3rd smoke
(and I don't smoke)
Cause it is always me
I didn't clear the trees.
And I never said goodbye
I couldn't love him back
And now I'll never cross
the Continental Divide
with you.
1,000 steps to the daily trek
Of knowing nothing at all
About me.

You Suck!

So today's thought...I absolutely hate being terrible at things. Most people would agree with me on this, except those who may be machoistic or just weird but they are another subject entirely. I just cannot stand to be a rank beginner in anything, and it's to the point where I'd almost rather not participate or try the activity then face my inabilities/inexperience with it. This came to the forefront last weekend when I attempted snowboarding for the first time (a hilarious event, rest assured. My knees and butt will never be the same). I became so frustrated at one point that I was seriously ready to quit--not because I was not enjoying myself when I was successful, but because I was so tired of not being good at it. My friends (all of whom were rank amaturs with me) and I started taking about it. When did this loathing of beginner-hood set in? When did I go from eagerly attempting (and failing) countless times to this belief that if I am not naturally the best at it then I should not be doing it? Lord knows that if I ever had to learn something complicated like riding a bike now I never would get it, much less walking. I think about guitar, an instrument I have been playing for almost ten years (!). I sucked at guitar, I mean royally sucked for a solid three years. And I'm still not the best but I can find my way around it. What motivated me to stick with it, and where is that motivation now? Are we as a people so absorbed in our own accomplishments that to yield to beginner-hood often loses out to voluntary ignorance? Yup. I am. And it's something I want to consciously lose. I want to be fantastic at sucking. I want to fall on my ass, crash into the tree, wet exit a ton, miss a power chord, hit the wrong note, translate incorrectly and basically embarass myself so that I may one day glide down the mountain, fly over the tree, get that roll, nail that power chord, find that perfect note and have that lively conversation in another language. If we are to be like children, then we must understand that being a master at something is not natural. Sucking is natural. This is gonna hurt right now, but it'll be great later.