I stand before a very important decision. I have the option of moving to Cincinnati with Dad, and he’s flying in on Tuesday morning to discuss it.
When this was first brought to my knowledge on Monday night, that bitter, sullen evening, I was actually quite relieved. In the midst of the excruciating angst of that night the glimmer of something new reached out to me from the distant horizon, and it shone quite pleasantly. Looking forward to a new city, with its crisp but familiar smells and tones was much less painful than looking behind and around me at the shattered power struggle that my family life had become. I imagined, and still do, the sweet release of just leaving the shambles of a time crushed by greed and deceit rather than sweeping down and trying to piece them together. The angry voices seep out of my mind as I let my eyes close and picture the lushness of Cincinnati, of cutting my hair into that adorable bob I’ve dreamt of for two years, of a job in a coffee shop in beautiful Eden Park, of a new name and a new image a new slew of possibilities. Just thinking of a household run by reason as opposed to insecurity makes me yearn for a complete and immediate change.
But what if, upon my arrival, I step into that world simply to see that nothing has changed and that I still have yet to learn to be happy?
I’m not a fool; I realize that leaving Salt Lake will only rid myself of the manageable problems and leave me with nothing but the internal, vital struggles to live through. I understand how nonsensical it is to run. And running is exactly what I’m doing in some senses; I don’t want to beat out a shaky compromise with mum just to forget to turn my phone on and return home to see the FBI dusting my front porch for prints. It’s possible to work things out here, it would be good for mum and me, but I’m sick of trying to find a middle ground that her and I both know we’re not capable of standing on. What happens if dad departs on Thursday night without me and I’m cemented in this cycle of bliss and misery, struggling through another monotonous semester at the U, battling mum in the middle of the night, coming to realize that my life is hell and, just to top it off, that I still hate this wretched climate?
It would be so easy to kneel down and ask, but I’m afraid of what I’ll then know I need to do. I’m terrified to think that I could make life work in Utah because I no longer want to. I hate the feel of the air, I hate the sight of 13th East. I’m sick of hearing my phone ring and I’m tired of panicking when I truly have yet to do anything devastatingly wrong.
In the end I’ll throw my hands up and leave the decision to everyone but the One I need to follow. Defeat will be an event my weaknesses will suffer eventually, but I know neither when nor how this will happen. Until then, my darlings, I’ll glide above without plunging in or even as much as feeling the water below me, darting about in an attempt to avoid every sensation that hurtles by.
How I hope to walk the path I yearn to experience. May bravery and determination appear and linger for but a moment and leave me fitter to endure.
Oh, make me thine forever!
And should I fainting be,
Lord, let me never, never,
Outlive my love for Thee.
