Rachel C
I wanted water. Water’s comfortable; I get water. Water is to me like a habit, something I have settled into, something soothing and sure, certain to make me feel better, relieve my constant nerves. I wanted water, because I was good at water, because I knew I could make water work for me, however I wanted to. I wanted water, because I could control it, I could control my watery future, and it was easy. Water is easy.
People are creatures of habit. We drink the same latte, eat at the same restaurant, sit in the same seat, all the time, every day. We do it because it’s comforting. It eases our nerves to know that everything in our routine is the same. Despite how quickly our lives and the world outside of our habits are changing, those little rituals make us feel at home. For years my routine has been based on my future—all that I plan to do with my life, all that my future revolves around. Which city, which school, which major, and ultimately which career. And around all of that, before and after everything: how to get there. My habit has been to plan, plan for my future, prepare myself, set my mind in focus. Five, ten, twenty years from now, set it in my mind, always focus on those dreams. To be fair, all of that constant focusing didn’t necessarily get me anywhere, ever. Through high school and into college, I have focused, but never on the day and the task at hand. Focusing on the future and not the present doesn’t get one there, but, the day dreaming was habitual, consoling, and it even had me convinced that I was comfortable with being so damn comfortable. I was wrong.
My habits were to remind myself everyday of my future, what I was doing and how I was getting there. My habits were to daydream and it became routine to fantasize about the life I was planning. My goals, my life, my future were set, comfortably, in a dream I knew I could achieve, even if I spent everyday dreaming and not working toward it. It was a dream characteristic of me. If I told anyone, they nodded knowingly; I’m easy to read, my emotions and my dreams on my sleeve. They were like water, flowing out of me, easily and naturally, I was born to it. I wanted to be comfortable, I have a tendency to be nervous, so comfortable is what I tend to strive for. I was comfortable in my natural habitat, doing what I considered to be so very like me. Much like childhood habits, chewing your nails for comfort, or pulling at hangnails for release, I scheduled and planned my life for a career that I was certain to succeed in, that I was certain to be comfortable in—something that wouldn’t make me anxious every time I thought about making it happen. But, as I’ve said, things in our lives, in the world outside, change so quickly they take you by surprise, and sometimes they can throw your routine out the window. And then what? You’re nervous, nervous because this is uncharacteristic, this isn’t natural, this isn’t so very like you. This is not habitual. This is fire, but you can’t deny how much you want fire, even though fire isn’t who you thought you were.
Habits are typically bad habits, at least the ones I am guilty of. And, once I was comfortable, I let them get the best of me. Until one Monday, when I realized that I’ve trained myself to believe I am only capable of one future. Like freezing water into ice—changing its color, giving it flavor, forming it into a heart shape with a silicone mold—I froze my future on an outcome I was certain of. My pink, strawberry ice-heart was familiar to me, but something has melted it, melted my future, melted my water. I’m capable of things I thought uncomfortable, and maybe what makes them uncomfortable should make me want to push through, turn the fire into something as soothing as water, even if it will never flow as easily. Because, I wanted water, but things have changed, and fire is so warm, so unpredictable, so very unlike me. I’ll walk through the fire if it will take me, until it becomes like a habit, until I am sure that I can face the heat without the water.
Even thought it’s not in habit, even though I’m anxious all the time, I have no desire to turn back to comfort. This fire, this blaze, is too bright to deny, and I can’t let water extinguish what could be so very great for me.
August 27, 2007
But I'm not Going Anywhere
People are creatures of habit. We drink the same latte, eat at the same restaurant, sit in the same seat, all the time, every day. We do it because it’s comforting. It eases our nerves to know that everything in our routine is the same. Despite how quickly our lives and the world outside of our habits are changing, those little rituals make us feel at home. For years my routine has been based on my future—all that I plan to do with my life, all that my future revolves around. Which city, which school, which major, and ultimately which career. And around all of that, before and after everything: how to get there. My habit has been to plan, plan for my future, prepare myself, set my mind in focus. Five, ten, twenty years from now, set it in my mind, always focus on those dreams. To be fair, all of that constant focusing didn’t necessarily get me anywhere, ever. Through high school and into college, I have focused, but never on the day and the task at hand. Focusing on the future and not the present doesn’t get one there, but, the day dreaming was habitual, consoling, and it even had me convinced that I was comfortable with being so damn comfortable. I was wrong.
My habits were to remind myself everyday of my future, what I was doing and how I was getting there. My habits were to daydream and it became routine to fantasize about the life I was planning. My goals, my life, my future were set, comfortably, in a dream I knew I could achieve, even if I spent everyday dreaming and not working toward it. It was a dream characteristic of me. If I told anyone, they nodded knowingly; I’m easy to read, my emotions and my dreams on my sleeve. They were like water, flowing out of me, easily and naturally, I was born to it. I wanted to be comfortable, I have a tendency to be nervous, so comfortable is what I tend to strive for. I was comfortable in my natural habitat, doing what I considered to be so very like me. Much like childhood habits, chewing your nails for comfort, or pulling at hangnails for release, I scheduled and planned my life for a career that I was certain to succeed in, that I was certain to be comfortable in—something that wouldn’t make me anxious every time I thought about making it happen. But, as I’ve said, things in our lives, in the world outside, change so quickly they take you by surprise, and sometimes they can throw your routine out the window. And then what? You’re nervous, nervous because this is uncharacteristic, this isn’t natural, this isn’t so very like you. This is not habitual. This is fire, but you can’t deny how much you want fire, even though fire isn’t who you thought you were.
Habits are typically bad habits, at least the ones I am guilty of. And, once I was comfortable, I let them get the best of me. Until one Monday, when I realized that I’ve trained myself to believe I am only capable of one future. Like freezing water into ice—changing its color, giving it flavor, forming it into a heart shape with a silicone mold—I froze my future on an outcome I was certain of. My pink, strawberry ice-heart was familiar to me, but something has melted it, melted my future, melted my water. I’m capable of things I thought uncomfortable, and maybe what makes them uncomfortable should make me want to push through, turn the fire into something as soothing as water, even if it will never flow as easily. Because, I wanted water, but things have changed, and fire is so warm, so unpredictable, so very unlike me. I’ll walk through the fire if it will take me, until it becomes like a habit, until I am sure that I can face the heat without the water.
Even thought it’s not in habit, even though I’m anxious all the time, I have no desire to turn back to comfort. This fire, this blaze, is too bright to deny, and I can’t let water extinguish what could be so very great for me.
August 27, 2007
But I'm not Going Anywhere
