I’ve always held the notion that inconsistency is a feature unique to this time in my life, unique to the all-too-lost and self-absorbed twenty-something, that eventually I’ll get to a point where things change a little less frequently, or in smaller ways, if nothing else. I’ve anticipated this moment, this age of consistency where I don’t feel drastically different each day when I wake up, each time I flip the pages of the calendar that hangs in my kitchen, each birthday that comes and goes and comesandgoes again, as though it would be easier that way, with the steady and the certain, as though we ever stop changing. Maybe I’ll get to a point where things will remain the same from year to year. Maybe I’ll buy a house and paint the walls a soft green and learn to save money and hang my clothes in my closet after I wash them and maybe I’ll have a better idea of who I am because she won’t seem to change nearly as drastically as she does now. But I don’t actually think consistency is compatible with humanness, and I don’t know that I want it to.
I think living can be really difficult sometimes. We don’t talk about it this way though because the alternative, the not-living, is horrifying both figuratively and literally. But I think it’s okay to admit that living is hard, and it’s okay to want it to be easier sometimes because it means we’re alive. It means we’re not numb to the world and all its horrible, terrifying, silly, heartbreaking, inspiring, overwhelming, beautiful, and complicated facets.
There’s something valuable that comes from discomfort and uncertainty. You taught me this a long time ago, before time convinced me we were no good for each other and I wanted to impress you so much more than I wanted to be great at anything, so I consumed all of your words, carefully, so that maybe they would press and form to my insides and become part of me and me a part of them and maybe I would believe them for the right reasons and I want to thank you because I do.
Living is hard sometimes, and I’m learning to love it more and more ardently, sincerely, and intensely every day. To love that the only thing consistent is inconsistency, and it’s all the better for that. And tonight, with a little bit of music perfection, I was reminded what it feels like to be a little more alive.
As you think the bad, feeling so bad makes the good so good.