On Choosing to Break the Pattern

I’m thinking about patterns.  With all of the choices coming up, I’ve been thinking a lot about how I’ve made decisions in the past.  I keep throwing around the idea of patterns.  Patters are safe.  They are predictable and make sense.  They let us feel all knowing.  They give us an illusion of security, of control, of safety.

I am guilty of patterns.  I have chosen the safe roads to avoid tough choices.  I have allowed my insecurities to postpone my dreams and block my future until fate feels uncontrollable.

If you are like me you graduated college with uncertainty of how you would obtain your dreams; not because you couldn’t make a plan, but because you were unable to identify your dream.  If you are like me, you may have chosen to chase another dream.  In my case, “the american dream.”  I found a company that valued inexperience and created a life that appeased my families, justified my debt, and distracted my recklessness.

If you are like me our daylight is spent in front of a computer, our evenings at the gym, our weekends at a bar.  The days past and we read stories about other lives but we do not understand them.  We feel pain in our dissatisfaction, but we disregard it.  We fall in and out of love.  We allow our hearts to experience longing and take comfort in others feeling the same.

For some (and there have been times when I have been very jealous of these people), it is easy to move along.  They recognize a calling in that routine and find their vocation in the distractions.  They fall in love, and suddenly there is a meaning that can justify the bullshit that got them there.  They recognize the talent needed to achieve a common goal and rise to the occasion.  Maybe their dream changed, or maybe they discover the dream they had been searching for all along.

For me, this fulfillment did mot come.  I woke up in the morning and heard the in-ignorable shouts of the universe calling me in a different direction.  I learned to hate their sound.  After all, my salary was more than good.  After all, I had a boyfriend who, though unable to understand my heart, loved me with all of his.  After all, I was surrounded by beauty and I was loved and lucky.  After all, this was the way I should feel.  After it all, fulfillment would come.

And then it was a warm Thursday afternoon.  I was having lunch with my boyfriend and planning our Friday afternoon.  We got off early the next day, so we were going to the beach to rent jetskis.  I was looking forward to the afternoon, and I was happy.

We returned to work and I went back to my tasks and emails.  I was busy, so I was content in my responsibilities.  I was thinking how easy my day is, that maybe I just drew a good straw, this COULD be the life I chose, that maybe the realization that purpose is arbitrary is the secret to contentment.  I noticed how windy it was outside.  The trees were going nuts, and branches were all over the street.  My friend joked about the winds of change.  I laughed at him, but secretly hoped he was right.

And then – a few hours later, I didn’t have a boyfriend who loved me anymore, only the memories of what we had been colored black by the knowledge of what had happened.  A few weeks later, he was gone.  A month later, my kitchen table became by office.

If the Universe works in patterns, I’m not going to play anymore.  No more patterns.  They can’t possibly be good for us.  When did life become something we have to do?  When did love become a chore? When did hope become burdened by hopelessness?  The answer is yesterday.  But not today. Today, the world is full of endless possibilities waiting for crazy ones to set them in motion, shake things up, make things move, create, and always trust.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s