But, I Digress

Based on my inner character

I find that I am often the source of my own obstacles. The way I am, and the actions I take (or don’t), are detrimental to my existence.  For instance, I never finish what I write. I fear that I might reveal more about myself than I wish others to know. It’s a fear I am incapable of explaining. A paucity of rationality. It is foolish, and complicated. Maybe I could blame a lack of temerity in my writing abilities, but it feels to be more than my insecurities spilling out onto paper; or not spilling. It scares me to think how much non-fiction is in a fictional story.  “Writers reveal more about themselves in their writing than they do their characters”. Crime television taught me that.  If I were to finish a story, and write a perfect ending, it would be erased immediately. The ending I write could be the one key to unlock my true desires that should only be known by the electrical boards in my computer and my-self. My files are filled with stories with no endings and sentences interrupted by nothing; like “That never�"“, or “She would dream�"“. I wish I could call it “symbolic” or “dramatic effect”, but this is a different intention. Perhaps it is a peculiar trepidation, but does it really differ from a fear of commitment or love? Fear is one of the many things that stop me from living a full life.

Sometimes I just feel like leaping off the top of building just to know the feeling of taking a chance. I have always been cautious; never being secure of my decisions, even if it seems to be the opposite. I am ashamed. Some of us have a quality that lets us act in an instant; not using our brains to make things happen in seconds. I am not one who has this ability. I thought playing it safe would always be easy, and painless. But the latter, (I’m just realizing), is completely wrong. It’s a different pain. You lose friendships, relationships, and loved ones. You lose memories that could have been made, or happiness that could have been gained. I guess I could blame my trepidations, and I guess I am. But what is saddening is that, in this scenario, you can’t blame your friend or parents; there is only yourself. That, (to me), is the worst part. Knowing that it is all of my fault, and no one else’s. It’s also the idea that I am missing so much, and I can’t do anything about it. Sometimes I don’t mind me being reserved, its apart of who I am! But extroverts, they don’t know the pain of watching opportunities go unused because you are afraid.

Truth be told, I have yet to overcome my obstacles. They will always be here with me. But, why I chose to write about this particular issue instead of one I had already resolved is because I know I need work. I know I can find a resolution to my fears, and I want everyone to know that I am trying, and pushing to be the better me. Finding your specific faults is easy, but solving them can take a lifetime, and I am ready to start repairing myself, like an old Mustang.

            I admire people who are able to maintain a life of secrecy and mysteriousness. I have an admiration for Salinger and his ability to become a hermit; so recluse. Avoiding the everyday annoyances of people picking and prodding at you for information you don’t wish to share. Even though I admire him, maybe I fear I will become him. To not branch out in school, or to not meet new people. Maybe I fear�"