Something struck me today; When fate claims us, it is said that our lives flash before our eyes; in seconds…minutes…our whole life…all the moments that mattered.
So in that short phase, surely we must feel alive. Reliving every time in our life that we felt crazy, that changed us, defined us. To feel so unconditionally alive as life slips from our grasp; bodies weakening, breathing slowing, heart beat fading…
Is it not crazy then, that we feel most alive when our bodies seem to forget how to live?
Remember your first kiss. Did you have butterflies making your stomach ache? Anticipation running through your veins? A hopeless desperation for perfection?
Now think of the exact moment it happened. The kiss that made your knees weak. Took away your breath. Heart miss a few beats…
How alive did you feel? Crazy right? Like a drug that is slowly killing you so effortlessly, but you’d happily make it your sole substance for survival.
So isn’t it amazing how that kiss, all the clichés of the kiss, mimic the description of one’s passing.
Look back; “weak”, “breathing, “heart beats”.
Let’s take another example. Adrenaline junkies. They do these crazy things again and again; literally tempt fate to take them…and yet here they still are. Suit up in all the protective gear required. Buckle up. Soar high into the sky…then jump.
Plummet to Earth. Feel the wind rushing past your face as gravity plays with your body. Face the possibility that this is it. If the parachute fails, you will be nothing more than a scar on some people’s lives…
It opens. You land. You breath for the first time since you jumped. Now tell me that didn’t make you feel bitterly alive! You defeated science. You overcame fear and fate! And you’d do it again…your heart is racing after missing so many beats. Your breath is coming too hard and fast for your body to cope. And your legs are jelly. You feel alive!
Ironic then; the things that make us feel most alive, also make us feel like it’s the end.
Does this mean there is some perfection in endings? When the harshest partings pain us to our core, is there not some beauty in feeling somewhat alive from the pain?
All the TV shows. All the movies. All the books. The literature. The music. The paintings. These forms of art have shown generations before, the craziness of love. They’ve been the standard of the era; look at a classic Jane Austen novel and you’ll see the ways people acted in society at the time. Marriage for purpose. The comfortable life not necessarily with love…
And then they’ve been the basis that people set their hopes to. The Jane Austen novels. Look at the characters that defy all for love. Defy family. Defy purpose. Defy the “rules” of society.
The literature; the arts; It is all about creating…no, more simply, finding the beauty. A classic painting of a stormy sea has something in common with a painting of a calm lily pond: someone has seen it and acknowledge the beauty in it.
The utter maddening love in the films and TV is now what so many of us set as our standards. And yet…how many of us find it? How many of us find the fantastical romance? How many of us experience the heated passion the protagonists get absorbed into… How many of us get absorbed into another person so wholly we forget who we are? Who has actually been kissed so hard that they forgot who they were…where they were…whose air they were even breathing? I want to be one of the tiny percentile. I want someone to give me, not the fairytale romance, that’s too pretty. No. I want the buzz of anticipation. The meet-cute. The stun at hearing those 3 over rated words for the first time from the person who means the world to me. The hopeless longing when parted. But more than that, I want to know it’s real. I want to hurt. I want the heartbreak. I want the shear physical pain from not being able to consider another day since being abandoned and betrayed. I want to become one with someone and have it ripped away when I’m least expecting it.
A phrase I’ll always think of; “the opposite of love is indifference”. So by hurting, by aching, by dying a little each day, I’ll know that it was real.
I’m young. I have a whole life ahead of me. No I’m not ready to settle down and have children and all that dandy stuff that follows…and I am alone. I can be alone tonight. What I can’t be is alone forever. I’m ready for life. The ups. The downs. I’ve had a good few already. I’m ready to be shown the world and to lose myself in another. I’m ready for endings. They are my greatest fear. I used to believe it was the commitment to someone or something…but I’m beginning to realise that it is the ending of the commitment that I fear most… They are so painful each time and I bet it never gets easier, because surely if it did, it would mean you are caring less and loving fewer…