Hey Jealousy

jealousy
Pronunciation: \ˈje-lə-sē\
Function: noun
Inflected Form(s): plural jeal·ou·sies
Date: 13th century
1 : a jealous disposition, attitude, or feeling
2 : zealous vigilance

Zealous vigilance. Really? I've never heard it described that way before. While at the moment I hardly have a fervent partisanship to be alertly watchful especially to avoid danger (thank you, merriam-webster.com), I am a bit disposed to suspect rivalry. Or, more specifically, imaginary rivalry. Or rivalry that would have existed at some point in the last few years if the past could somehow magically meet up with the present. It really seems unnecessary, then, doesn't it, to be jealous of a hypothetical rival. So then why am I? I feel like a very petty person for allowing this kind of reaction to rise up in me. Why am I jealous that someone has something that I sort of once had but not really possessed? None of this will make any sense to anyone reading it, but I have to get these thoughts out. Maybe then I'll begin to understand them.

I've found it difficult over the last few years to let go completely of things (people) that are no longer part of my life. I so wish that I could just erase certain individuals from my consciousness; not because I have particularly ill feelings towards them (anymore), but because it would just be better if they no longer crossed my mind. If I never had to think about them ever again. Of course, that's not humanly possible (through natural means, anyway), but I think that there has to be a way to at least compartmentalize them so that they exist only in a box locked up and packed away neatly in your vault of memories. In a vault within the vault that has its own key. A key that you misplaced so well that you cannot with any amount of facility find.

And unfortunately, I have--for lack of a better word--unpleasant feelings toward people who do not deserve them. Who did nothing to warrant them except be connected to another individual about whom I have unpleasant feelings. And WHY when I see certain people do I automatically have a knee-jerk uncomfortable reaction? Am I not a strong young woman comfortable in her own skin and confident? I feel so weak when I allow the past to affect me in that way. Like I'm missing a part of me that I should have grown by now. The part that can just smile and chat away like nothing disagreeable ever happened. On the flipside of that, who says I have to get along with everyone all the time? Why aren't I allowed to not put myself in uncomfortable situations. My mother told me once, long ago, that I don't have to do anything I'm not comfortable doing. But me, being the people-pleaser that I am, I always try to slap on a happy face and be everyone's friend. I'm always concerned about what people think of me, even those people whom I see but twice--maybe three times--a year. I really do wish though, that I hadn't done certain things that add to the unpleasantness of these infrequent encounters, so I think that's part of the motivation to "make things all better." No regrets, though, right? Things happened the way they did and you can't change the past, so whatever. Right? So then no reason for the already acknowledged unnecessary jealousy. Ugh.

Maybe the trick is to fill your mind so full so as to force the memories all the way to the corners out of which no one ever cleans the cobwebs. The harder they are to dredge up, the more obscured they are by the uncleaned cobwebs, the better.

What am I still here for?
Could it be that I'm just waitin.
Oh hopin you'd rescue me and put the pieces together again

Is that it? That you keep them around in the vain, irrational, dim hope that a friendship might someday emerge like a phoenix? That what wasn't might someday be?

And maybe we never move on as far as we attempt to convince ourselves we do. Maybe we keep around these memories (and fantasies?) in which to indulge ourselves when we are alone. To use as a means of making sense of what went wrong, whose fault it was, etc. To distract ourselves from the fact that we are alone, that even the bad stuff is better than having nothing at all?

How does one work on truly moving forward? Does it really take years of expensive therapy (that, really, has the potential to just make things worse. It's why psychotherapy doesn't work fr sociopaths; it has the adverse effect of putting them deeper into their problems/delusions/et al.) Can it be accomplished with sheer physical distance? With replacements?

The past is gone but something might be found
To take its place...

Second Chance Pt 2

The following thought crossed my mind today, and I felt rather Carrie Bradshaw-like. "I couldn't help but wonder..." Why do we go back to the things that hurt us?

The second chance of which I wrote in my previous post turned out to be nothing more than a brief opportunity to reconnect. A fleeting moment, really, in the grand scheme of each others' lives. But I started to think about why I considered giving this person a second chance in the first place. Why did I want to reconnect with someone who had hurt me? I knew what would happen. I knew it would be the same as before. But my inner cockeyed optimist (gold star to the musical theatre geek who gets that reference) ignored what the realistic me knew instinctively and gave this person--let's call them Jersey--gave Jersey the benefit of the doubt. For whatever reason, I fight off the urge to think the worst of people. I nearly always give people more credit than they deserve. And don't you know that that's the surest way to get disappointed? And don't you know that's the surest way to get hurt?

I have a friend who's currently giving someone a second chance, so that, too, feeds the inspiration for this post. From what I can gather, this girl really messed with him the last time. Why would you want to go back to that? Why would any rational, intelligent, common sensical adult choose to go back to someone that hurt them? To a situation that was not good for them? Do we enjoy the pain? Is it part of our love of the game? The possibility of the win? What propels us back into the arms of someone who may just let go again? Who wasn't strong enough to hold onto us the first time?

If you've already repaired your broken heart, and tucked the memories of the person away into a safe little box, then you would think the matter closed. A phone call or a chance meeting with them should not matter. Is it the fact that the good times trump the bad? Perhaps it's the opportunity to show real forgiveness (the existence of which I sometimes doubt), the chance to tell/show this person that while they've hurt you, you hold no grudge against them, and you've chalked it all up to experience. That's all good and well--if you don't open the wound wide enough for them to stab at it again. Is the feeling of pain worth it just to feel something-anything-at all? (There's a Three Day's Grace song about this; I highly recommend it.)

But why, when there's another door open--a door to something new, a door to something that could make you happy, a door to a room you've never dared to enter (or that you've maybe only peeked your head into)--would you not walk through it? Why not take the chance that you've never taken? Because it's just as scary? Because you could end up getting hurt either way? But you've not ever been hurt by anything behind door #2...Door #2 has been open for you for some time now, and you've not let yourself walk through it. Door #2 wants you to pick them. There's something great behind it. Let's make a deal...

Second Chance?

Two weeks ago, I got a most unexpected phone call. It was 12:45 p.m., I was sitting at my desk, and my bosses were mere feet from me. Upon seeing the number and recognizing it as a New Jersey number, a name flashed through my head. No, it couldn't possibly be. Why would he be calling me on some random...no, it's not. Tentatively, I answered. "Hello?" "Hey!" --pause for attempt at voice recognition-- It sounds like...but why? Maybe? "I'm sorry, who is this?" --laughter. Unmistakeable, unforgettable laughter. -- Oh my God, it is. "Hey! How-how are you?" Shocked beyond words and flustered, I managed to get out of my office and find a quiet place to carry on the conversation. The first conversation I'd had with this person in 3 months. This person that I hadn't seen in 7 months and that, quite frankly, I didn't expect to see or hear from again. Small talk ensued. Get to the point, here. Why did you call me at 12:45 p.m. on a random Thursday in July after we haven't spoken in 3 months and I never expected to hear from you again??? "I was wondering if maybe you wanted to get together." --heart stops. head spins.-- "Sure, um, yeah!" Damn, I made myself sound too available. Conversation ended not long after that, leaving us with the intent to make plans to see each other and me with the face-crackingest smile I'd worn in a long time. A smile I made no attempt to hide when I got back to my office. A smile which caused my bosses to give me a good-natured ribbing. A smile which left me completely unable to focus on anything for the next half hour.

We make plans to meet. After the incredibly stressful drive through the heart of Bucks County suburbia--minivans, strip malls, 35-mph traffic--and at first arriving at the wrong location, then getting lost on my way to the correct one--did I mention the apparent complete lack of parking at said location?--I arrived at the destination in question, nearly in tears and shaking. I managed to compose myself, and a few minutes later, managed to find the reason I had made such journey. The next hour and a half passed without much incident. It was slightly awkward, given that we hadn't seen each other since December of last year, but nothing that either of us couldn't handle. We talked, we walked, and we kissed (initiated by him, not I) before we parted. It seemed like the door that he reopened will remain that way, but I've walked through it with my feet on the ground; and I intend to keep them there.

So here I am, 5 days and one as-yet-unreturned voice mail later, wondering what's next. And, at the moment, failing miserably at my attempt to not think about it. I guess it's alright to have reopened the door (wound?) as long as we both know it's not going to go fullspeedahead and that there's the possibility that it may not work out again.

I can't help but wonder, though, would it have been better that the door remained closed? I had already given the whole thing a place in my book of memories and made peace with it. More wonderings include: Did I have so much trouble getting to the place we were supposed to meet because I shouldn't have been going there at all? Will I hear from him again? Would he really reopen the door if he didn't intend to walk through it? Why after all this time would he decide to contact and see me? Did he think the date (?) went worse than he expected, and that the whole thing was a bad idea after all? What is the meaning of life? (Just kidding with that last one, folks) I always think the worst until I have reason not to. A flaw in my character, I suppose. At least if the worst happens, you're ready for it.

fool me once, shame on you. fool me twice, shame on me.

Let's see if I'm any good at this...

Hello out there! I'm trying my hand at blogging after being inspired by friends of mine whose musings I enjoy (I'm looking at you Alissa, Heather, and Patti!). And because I've always found that seeing my oft-scrambled thoughts written out helps me make sense of them.

So this is just the introduction today...I'm a 23-year-old living in (and loving) Philadelphia and trying to make my way into adulthood, apply to and afford grad school, avoid the pitfalls of the dating world (although that's quite the Herculean task, I've found), and enjoy as much of the Delaware Valley on as little money as possible (allowing for the occasional splurge, of course. Some of the topics that have been grabbing my attention the most lately include yoga, theology, social networking, and trying to convince people how important the arts are and why they should spend money on them in an economy like this.

Speaking of which...maybe I should get back to work.

Til next time, kids.