We Heart It
When I was in elementary school, my favorite recess activity next to the swings and monkey bars was riding the see-saw with a friend. I remember the standing end being so much higher up than what they really were – it felt as though I were craning my neck to perceive the wonders of Jack’s beanstalk. I fell off one once. I don’t remember much of it. I’d seen it happen to other kids and, like most of us prefer to maneuver through adulthood, thought it would never happen to me. As a child, I still claimed that sense of invincibility, wore it around my neck as a talisman of my youth. Then one day, as I excitedly pushed my legs as hard as I could off the firm and permanent ground beneath me, I lost my center at the top, fell sideways, and landed on the ground. I wish I could say that the force of the landing wasn’t as I expected or that tears spurted from my eyes as air gathered back into my lungs. But I remember none of this. Just up and down and over.
I’ve honed the see-saw effect on my life nearly to perfection. The word “perfect’s” etymological definition merely means “to do something thoroughly.” I have thoroughly seed and sawed on either end of the toy since childhood. I’m as indecisive as they come. I think this is because I try to keep too much of an open mind. I don’t know how to close the door on some things, or perhaps I don’t know enough of myself to know when a door needs closing.
“You’re so fickle,” my mother said to me one day. We were outside in the yard by the place where the Paulownia tree used to stand. It was cold and we were talking about dance – if I was going to switch studios or stay where I was, how many dances I wanted to be in, if I even wanted to keep dancing. I’ve followed in this same vein my entire life, never knowing what exactly I wanted. Or, knowing what I wanted, but knowing too that what I wanted wouldn’t be an acceptable desire to my family. It’s not enough to say I’m happy where I am in life at the moment, that all I wish to do is write and live simply, because now there are student loans to be paid and a college education to do something with. I felt obligated to go to college because it was what people expected of me. Now I feel obligated to do something I don’t want to do because those same people will expect me put that education to “real” use.
A friend of my grandparents came down to visit one weekend. His wife asked me what I was majoring in. “English,” I said. “And what do you plan to do with that?” she asked. Her husband wrapped a hand around a freshly lit cigar, puffing out the smoke. “Go to tech so she can get a real job,” he said. I hated him for that comment, and even today I can’t shake the resentment.
So, I ride the see-saw of life’s decisions. I push up, because I think I want to go to grad school. I sail downward, because, after all, that’s not what I really want to do. I push back up, because I think being a librarian would suit me well. I fall back down because, truthfully, it doesn’t seem to fit me at all. I push up once again because being a ballsy businesswoman seems fun. I lean back, falling down again because I know writing about a ballsy businesswoman would be more fun than actually being one.
The problem, perhaps, is that I know who I am, but my obligation to fill others’ needs of who I should be clouds the mirror that holds my fate. In the end, I know riding the see-saw will just cause me grief. What I really need to do is fall off of it altogether.