Conversations between ‘my selves’

I’ve sat with myself for three long months, including the most mentally challenging weeks I’ve ever seen as an adult. Myself and I, we’ve had many conversations between us. About who we were, who we are, and who we’re working toward becoming.

Lucky are those who have always known who they wanted to be. I have met few such people in my life, the most remarkable being my best friend from college. As far back as I can recall in our years of friendship, she has had her mind set on becoming a lawyer. Everything she’s been doing from that moment has been driven by purpose, by intent. No matter the setback, she has always known where to go. How fortunate must a life like that be? Knowing what one is working toward, having clear sight of the end goal.

In my case, Sylvia Plath wrote it best.

“I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in the story. From the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked. One fig was a husband and a happy home and children, and another fig was a famous poet and another fig was a brilliant professor, and another fig was Ee Gee, the amazing editor, and another fig was Europe and Africa and South America, and another fig was Constantin and Socrates and Attila and a pack of other lovers with queer names and offbeat professions, and another fig was an Olympic lady crew champion, and beyond and above these figs were many more figs I couldn't quite make out. I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn't make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet.”

The Bell Jar, 1963

My curse has always been indecision. If you ask me what one sentence has haunted me for the longest time, it's this - “If you let yourself be paralyzed by indecision, the choices will be made for you and never in ways you won't regret." I don't consider myself a hesitant person, lacking determination or certainty in deciding what I want. On the contrary, my family believes I'm hardheaded, impossible to sway or reason with. I like to think my resolve is clear when it comes to the pursuit of what matters to me. That is until I'm at a crossroads where one path could lead to the life I have always wanted, prefaced by sacrifices and uncertainties (in the way that lives worth living usually are), while the other circles back to the place I have always known, my comfort zone. Where I am safe and sound. And stuck. Then I am awake at 1am, mentally listing down all the pros and cons, carefully calculating the risks associated with each move, even asking friends over and over - one inch short of begging them to make the call on my behalf. And yet, still unable to arrive at a worthy conclusion.

Considering how much I've lost - people, time, opportunities for growth - I am now qualified to stand as a cautionary tale against playing it safe. I wanted it all. The long term relationship where we spend every weekend together, the large friend group that makes fun of people in relationships who spend every weekend with their partner; the calculated and slightly mean demeanor that keeps people at arms-length, and the warm and enthusiastic greeting that draws everyone in; I've longed for independence and freedom, to live life on my own terms, but I have also worn the shoes of the girl who did everything that was expected of her. I've wanted to live many lives, each one worlds apart. As a result, I stay exactly where I am.

On days plagued by doubt and a crippling fear of failure, I can't help but think about how much I wish I had been reckless when I was younger. Back when I had less to lose and more time to waste; more energy and zest for life to aid in recovering from all sorts of pain. I should have fallen in love with the wrong people then, gotten my heart terribly broken multiple times. I should have moved somewhere I wasn't sure I liked. Studied the wrong program, pursued more of the things I wasn't completely resolute about - I can go on and on. That way, I could live in the now with the wisdom that comes from having experienced and survived uncertainty, failure, and pain, in the way I watch and admire everyone else do.

I've always taken pride in being careful and reserved. Like the absence of scars and rarity of wrong choices put me in a better position than the rest. As an adult, all this has brought me is the curse of limitation. My peers go through life shielded by two things only experience can ever build - the courage to make mistakes and the strength to recover from them. I watch my friends (in all the awe they warrant) go through betrayal and heartbreak with more resilience, recklessness, and kindness than what seems humanly possible - especially in combination. I watch them break the cardinal rule of relationships: never love the other person more than they love you. I watch them beg, pray to God in despair to bring the person they love back, to make them want them too, and still say no when the person comes back half-heartedly.

I think about how I refuse to beg but willingly take crumbs. Pride and the error of my own judgement tricked me into believing that bits offered willingly is better than the whole that I needed to ask for. I’ve never sent a drunk text, never settled, never put another person before myself. Here I am, all careful and selfish and everything the internet preaches for a young woman to be. And yet, I am unhappy.

At 25, I wished my 15 year old self had made worse choices. I wish she had put herself out there, gotten hurt. I wish she had suffered from wounds whose scars would stand as proof of her ability to recover and keep fighting, 10 years later. At 35, I would probably wish the same for my 25 year old self. But the harsh reality is that I'm not sure I still have the resilience of youth to survive. I'm no longer a teenager, not even in my early 20s. I can't afford to waste time, resources, or chances, and after the last one, I'm not entirely confident my heart can survive another wreck. So I just keep living like I always have.

Safe, calculated, full of regrets.