Finding Equilibrium

I've been struggling with the ideas of maturity versus numbness lately, and also with selfishness versus closure.



In some sense, I find it supremely selfish that we're all so obsessed with the idea of demanding "closure" from the chapters of our lives. Life is not a novel; it does not divide into neat vignettes. The desire for closure is (far more often than not) simply a desire to extract a pound of flesh. We want to watch someone bleed so we can feel better, and once we feel better, moving on is simple, so we think to ourselves that this "closure" is necessary.



Really, it's not necessary. We can move on without hurting anyone else; it just takes more effort. It require more of us to move past our own hurt without inflicting it on anyone else; it requires us to give up revenge and accept our own responsibility in whatever happened.

Here's a free insight: you are never an innocent bystander in your interpersonal relationships. A relationship is by definition a situation of give-and-take, and it always, always takes two to tango. Sometimes you give more, sometimes you take more, sometimes its an even-steven exchange, but all those various gray hues are decisions you make. You decide how much to give in your relationships, and how much to take. You decide how much to put up with, and when you throw screaming fits, that's your decision to.

Own those decisions. They are yours, and if you don't like what you get out of them, you have to own them in order to change your behavior.

On the flip side, sometimes people just do treat you really shittily. I struggle with this. I would like, always, to believe that people are their best selves. I am Dr. Pangloss. And so when I realize that someone is behaving in less than an ideal fashion, I struggle. My kind and gentle (ha!) nature would like to forgive them, show them why what they did hurt me, and believe that from that point, they'll stop doing whatever it is.

Yeah, that pretty much never works out.

So, I find myself struggling with the desire to extract pounds of flesh. Hurting someone makes the lesson stick. It's a common trope: I can't count how many movies I've seen in which the generally benevolent teacher inflicts pain on the hapless student so that the pupil will remember the very important lesson being imparted. I mean, it makes sense: we learn not to stick our hand in the fire because doing so HURTS. If I really want to teach someone a lesson, I should hurt them.

I really hate that idea.

Also, I think it's a copout. You can teach without pain. Pain is the easy way, but certainly not the only way, and really, pain doesn't always work.

Then again, sometimes I think that by not forcefully expressing myself when something wrong happens, I'm allowing that ever-threatening numbness to creep in and over take me. Perhaps it's just that I don't care enough to try. I don't care enough to let people know when I'm hurt. I don't care enough to let people know when I think what they've done is wrong.

Numbness is just as much the enemy of equilibrium as anger. Numbness is just as much a threat to a balanced life. In repudiating anger, am I merely giving in to numbness?

I don't know.