My Dear Friend Reality…

One would think that after having a moment of
realisation it would stay with you, carried in the back pocket of your jeans
for the rest of your days.
There would be no forgetting, no doubt and a strong sense of
self-awareness. Just the realisation in your back pocket, tucked in the corner
between your spare change and a lip balm, always with you as you move around
each day.
It’s a struggle to know life isn’t like that. It’s hard to
accept we forget the things we learn, even if at the time the moment seems so
profound and life changing.
Accepting cold hard facts has never been a talent of mine.
I’m sure dear reader, you will be similar. No one likes to be slapped in the
face with reality; of knowing we’re doing something wrong when we have been
quite content to putter along doing what we’d previously been doing before it
all came crashing down.
As a child, I hated taking direction. I mean, I was the leader for crying out loud, didn’t Mum
and Dad see that? I knew what I was
doing thank you VERY much.
 I was a star, a shining
beacon of light, the Einstein of everything, the… Oh wait. Crap. Yeah, I did
that wrong. Yeah. It shouldn’t look like that. Dad was right… DAMMNIT.
I digress. I get things wrong. I’m very sure you too will
get things wrong, but that’s alright. We can’t be perfect at everything
(although it is frustrating proclaiming loudly to anyone who hears about a
subject only to be cut down with one comment. Yes I’m looking at you Quinn, you
sassy thing) so life must go on. We realise once more. We raise our hands in
elation once we understand the Reason behind a Moment, and shake our fists to
the sky after we repeat our mistakes. We curse at our foolishness and roll out
of bed the next day; teeth bared at what the world could throw at us next.
But, it is aggravating when the cold water of truth is
poured suddenly over your head. It happens at the most random and ill-fitting
moments that I hardly understand what my brain is doing the rest of the time,
when I have the time to address these thoughts and grieve of my failures in
peace. Instead I’m rushing to Uni, rushing to work, attempting to listen in
tutorials or to friend’s conversations. And there is my little friend Reality
tugging at the neck of my tshirt, demanding attention for the next Realisation
I haven’t quite come to accept while I’m trying to do all of these things.
 ‘Wait your turn’, I will tell it sternly. ‘I’m quite busy right now, can’t you see
that?’
To which it will screech ‘NO
NO, YOU MUST LISTEN NOW’.
Frankly, my friend
Reality sounds a lot like me as a child.
I’ve come round to accept that writing is my best outlet. I
am my most content immersed in words, learning new ones from articles written
with such power which I attempt to replicate into my own work. It sounds quite
funny for this to be such a defining realisation for a writer, isn’t it? That
writing is the best outlet? The irony. Yet, I must confess writing can be
incredibly painful when it is intertwined with cold, hard facts of reality
splashing down by the bucket load on top of my head. I cower from my laptop,
latch onto childhood books and watch mindless TV. My fingers itch to write and
Reality frowns at me, slapping my cheek and tugging my ear in an attempt for me
to listen. But I don’t want to face it. I don’t wish to face things I have been
cowering from, darting between corridors and hiding behind letterboxes. I don’t
want to be proven wrong when Reality finally wins and gives me a swift and
brutal talking to.
Because once I face dear Reality, I have to make some
changes. And frankly, I don’t have the time these changes demand.
I want to make the changes when I have long free hours ahead
of me. I want to spread each issue down and admire it in detail, become lost in
possibilities of solutions before finally whittling down to the right one. Take
it apart piece by piece like one would to a lover, slowly but confidently until
it’s calm once more. I don’t want to rush these changes; I don’t want to
frantically tick them off a list in a day, paper and pen clutched to my chest
as I race around attempting to right every wrong haphazardly. I want to get it
right. I want time to breath and look Reality in the eye as I ask mockingly
‘what’s the worst you’ve got? Is that it?’
But I don’t get such luxury. I have things to do after all,
and every day feels like a new challenge I can’t complete to my best abilities
when I have things to address. They hang like a cloud over me, insistent and
whiny over the lack of attention they demand, inflated with their self-assured importance
in my life. Reality tugs at me each day, muttering angrily at my lack of
dedication to my own life. Because that’s what it is. I feel like I’m letting
myself down when I don’t do things I know I must do, while doing things I
actually HAVE to do. There’s no escaping my friend Reality, but there’s no
breaks in my day-to-day Real Life. I must march on, head high and palms clasped
in acceptance for what’s to come.
I’m sure by now you’re thinking to suggest ‘why not a
holiday? That’s a break you can have in real life.’ It is, holidays are famed
for how much they can de-stress your mind, but for me a week break in a Spanish
resort is not something I crave. If I’m to take a break, I want it to be done
selfishly. I want to travel to countries I’ve dreamed of and forget my
responsibilities for a while. The foolish dreamer of me conjures up plans to
escape suddenly in the dead of night, an expensive plane ticket for San Francisco
bought and a month I can immerse myself into a new life of free living. Reality
scowls at this, because I cannot just up and leave. I have a family, a job and
a degree I have to finish. I have internships I have to apply for, an apartment
to look for and paperwork I have to finish. The dreamer must wait, for her time
hasn’t yet come. It’s Reality who owns me as of now, even if I may fight them.
I’m not fighting anymore. I’m making peace with little
Reality, or as much peace as I possibly can at this moment while Reality tucks
itself into the crook of my neck, snuggling against my warm jumper. We’re
becoming one again after such a time fighting one and other. The dreamer of me
is understandably sad we are not running away like we did last winter, hands
clasped together as we leap into the unknown with winter stinging our cheeks
and reckless teenage freedom spreading around my body. It isn’t time. We can’t
run away anymore.
So I finish November on a sober but peaceful note.
My latest realisation you ask? The big changes in life don’t have to mean a drastic new appearance or
a new country to roam.
Sometimes, the big changes mean accepting the things
we have been neglecting and letting Reality say what it’s desperately wanted to
say. It’s time to be a grown up and make peace with the recent months.
Let’s see if December is any better, shall we?
All the love,

Lou x
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One Response to My Dear Friend Reality…

  1. Pingback: #CTRLALTDELETE BOOK LAUNCH | Predicaments of Lou

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