Acceptance is the most unforgivable disservice to oneself if
it’s a choice, chosen each time to defer oneself of what could be. It’s this
idea of “carrying on” within an outline of social security that limits the self not only from seeing beyond, but from even wondering of a fuller journey. To
not allow oneself to wonder, to be afraid of the passion it might accidentally
spark is beyond pathetic. The half thought of “if” today drags in a knapsack of
the lost chances to the doorstep, looks the naked you in the eye and narrates
you the specials from the glorious “regrets”. This terror is enough to cajole
oneself into drawing the circle smaller each time.
Tell me “it adds up now” and I will shed a tear on your
behalf. It does not add up. You rationalized the hell out of it, but it does
not add up. You are not convinced and so you seek comfort in convincing others that
your misery had a purpose. To fit things in retrospect and to rationalize
choices has become our reflex response to “how did you get here?”
If here and now is the only truth we live (as told by Alan
Watts), don’t we owe ourselves the truth of what got us here and now? Was it a
series of deliberate moves or underlying acceptance of what happened?
I can spare the retrospection but cannot not excuse myself
from introspection. A recent confession to a friend who did not see it coming
brought on a dimension to my observations so far. Throughout the growing years,
the finish line was fixed for each race. Each race was different in length, posed
a different challenge but had a finish line. The end was certain. The certainty
of the end was comforting. However, the races we run today don’t have a finish
line to it and neither do they have a track. Sure, there is an illusion of a
track and a mirage they called it finish line. Sure, it was promised to you by someone
who made it halfway. Maybe they convinced you the halfway mark was the finish
line. And now you are here. Are you convinced? Who is laughing now? Well no
one. Not you and not the one who thought this was it.
With a moving finish line and no markers defining a track,
it’s not exactly a race (well it never was to begin with). It’s a stroll and
should be a stroll filled with a sense of wonder, one that consumes you but
releases you with each breath.
“Yaaaaaaaar…….. sahi se fail hona chahiye tha” as these
words came out of my mouth I realized the magnitude of void. A void that can
only be filled by challenging and failing gloriously. The key is to mess it up and
see the magic unfold out of it. No, it’s not the same as seeing others mess it
up and learning. Stumble as you wish/will, bruise proudly, adore the scars and
laugh.
