Looking back on the last couple of months, I noted, not for the first time, that I haven’t been blogging as much as I used to. Up until May, I would blog almost every day — and now I wonder why I seem to have so very little to say or think about that I don’t feel the need to siphon it all into the little 6 inch² box that is my text editor, and thus relieve myself of the anger and frustration I once felt in spades.
I have recently — and constantly — been reminded of how much can change in such a short amount of time. My personal life had suddenly taken a turn and begun a slow, albeit steady, uphill climb. Barely a quarter of the way up, it was swept off its feet and most unexpectedly catapulted past the halfway mark, and up until today it continues its journey to heights I had long fallen from and am now learning to tackle again.
As for my professional life — also known as the greatest oxymoron of my existence — it was in a shambles after the departure of my boss and left at the mercy of a woman whose quest for supreme hegemony and dominion would have put Saddam Hussein to shame. And just when I thought I had found a way to escape before my own bitterness became my irrevocable undoing, I was pulled back in by a small, renewed glimmer of hope that perhaps there was a way out of this cesspool that didn’t involve defenestration.
To say that having all this happen over a span of three months had left me emotionally incapacitated and mentally unable to put it all down coherently in words — until perhaps now — would be a poor excuse. But for once, I’ll leave it at that.
With everything I have gained in recent weeks, there was also a fair amount to be lost, in both my life and my work. While it may be easy for one to sagely preach, “Sacrifices must be made,” it doesn’t make the sacrifice itself any easier. We are pulled in two separate directions, tempted by an escape but terrified of the unknown, and at the same time cleaving to an old attachment, comfortable where we are but knowing at some point we have to learn to let go. And when we’ve made our decisions, we can’t help turning back for that last look, bidding our silent goodbyes and wondering if we made the right decision.
All this being said, however, I’ve found some sort of closure in knowing that even though the decisions I’ve made may have been because I had no other choice, in some way they were the right ones, because in the big picture they could all work out for the greater good. In a different time and place, things may have gone my way, but in the here and now, this is all I have, and I’m happy with it. I’ve let go of the old anger and unhappiness, and forgiven the ones whom I once blamed — although knowing that in truth, they were not the ones at fault — for my own inadequacies.
But I will never forgive myself for not trying — or fighting, depending on how you look at it — hard enough for what I wanted. I will never forgive myself for not recognizing my flaws and altering myself accordingly in a bid to salvage what little I had left. And I will never forgive myself for allowing it to consume me until I had almost lost my own sense of self, and subsequently, self-respect.
I’ve taken my last look.