There was a time not long passed where I was braver. I used to say such incredibly forward, daring things. They were not premeditated, but nonetheless intentional.
Sometimes they were whispers on a couch at 3am.
Sometimes they were absolute truths of the universe revealed over a cup of coffee (back when I tried to drink it black).
Sometimes they were dreams and aspirations that included me and only me, and that was sufficient cause.
There was a time when my movements were not so calculated. I did not worry so much about the future. It was not a delinquent disregard for the future, but more or less an intuitive faith that everything would be just fine. And it was.
Now my coffee is sweetened and sedated, and so are my words. I have too often bowed to the pressures of career and relationships. I have compromised, over and over.
I answer work emails to parents with emoticons, for God’s sake. Smiley faces to ease the burden of the truth that I feel guilty for saying.
“Your daughter/son has not turned in a single essay this semester. :)”
Ok, not exactly, but you get the point. It is weak, weak behavior, and I am ashamed and sad that I have arrived at this bleak point.
I used to get ashtray ugly when I was angry. I threw things. My face got red and I cried and I didn’t care who saw. I rammed shopping carts into people. (Oh come on, that was ONE time.)
And it’s not society’s fault for conditioning me, a lady of sorts, to accept being undermined and dismissed. Well, it is. But it’s my fault for falling prey. Come on, Heather, really? REALLY?!
My New Year’s resolution: To bring back the fight. To not be so flexible. To rage, rage against the dying of the light.