jeff yen

Jameson remains, as ever, both a catalyst and an excuse for speaking uncomfortable truths to strangers and friends; here I include myself, in a category rather nearer to the former — particularly when I’ve awoken sober tomorrow.

Days before she died, my sister asked me to tell her a story. To my shame, I had none to tell. She turned away with a sigh, murmuring that I used to tell such good stories.

I may have gathered a few new stories since then, but I have discovered that any talent for telling them has since flown. My mind is too feral; so fractured and wandering that attempting to trace the paths it takes with spoken or written word is all too often an exercise in frustration, mirrored in the eyes — real or imagined — of my audience.

This, in part, is why meaningful or entertaining posts are infrequent, and meaningless ‘status updates’ are incessant. I write, delete, write, forget. It is a result of the way I have treated my consciousness as of late; injecting as much information simultaneously as possible, in order to push away thoughts and worries that should have been confronted.

I’ve been working, but too idle. I’m growing old, but not growing up. I’m broadening, rather than my horizons. I’ve come a long way while going nowhere; moved around without moving on; returned to where I found myself, only to slowly — and perhaps willingly — lose the trail.

It’s been so long, sometimes I’m afraid I may not be able to relate to the real world anymore. Old habits die hard, and sometimes it’s easier to let them survive than to seek a life of one’s own. In light of recent developments, it has been all too easy to sink back into their welcoming arms, and let the world pass by in a comfortable blur.

I am fortunate in that my better half sees the world more clearly than I, even when suffering from some of the same problems. Luckily, she’s also strong enough to haul both of us up to eye-level so I can see some of the hard truths.

I need to start moving, and learning, again. This I know, and readily accept.

I had to be shown, however, that the best place to do that, given my penchant for falling into ruts in the face of uncertainty, is where I know the systems.

I’ve spent a lot of time here, and I’m not quite sure what I’ve learned. I do know I’ve found meaningful things and people. I think I know what, and whom, I need to hold on to; and what I have to do in order to keep them.

I’m not yet sure precisely when, but this year — accompanied at the very least by a few more failures and grey hairs — I’m coming home.

Again.