Chasing the dream only matters if the dream can be caught. I had mine as I’m sure everyone else does, or did. Certain things are bound to change the overall plan’s minor details, but the end result is supposed to be the same.
Then comes that day when every hope for the future is lost. My tagline for Kat’s Den is dum vita est spes est, which is Latin for “where there’s life, there’s hope.” That’s a rough and simple translation, but you get the idea.
I think dreams and hope are wasted on the young. They have their whole lives ahead of them and it’s a time and place where nearly anything is possible.
Then one day you realize it’s not.
With age comes wisdom ya know.
I don’t think I could stand to be any wiser. What I know now has shattered any hope for the life I thought I had, for the rest of the life I thought I was going to have. That growing old part, with somebody, you know, life.
I know that my actual physical breathing life isn’t over, but life as I knew it certainly is. I recognized the turn. Probably not as soon as I should have. Because I have been here before.
There were several points in our short history together when I should have left. It’s like playing go-back with your computer where you restore to a point prior to the last update that crashed everything. I can see those points clearly, and if I’d taken any of them, just one of them, we wouldn’t be where we are now – all crashed and broken and irreparable. Only we can’t find a restore point. Except for actual time travel, there’s no possible way to go back and undo what’s been done.
I told somebody once that what few men realized about women is that when we’re done, we’re just done. It’s like that last little piece falls into place and we just can’t do any single thing more. The motivation, hope, and desire to keep it together are gone. And all of a sudden, with the snap of a finger, I’m just done. The only possible thing left to do at that point is to extricate from the thing that’s tearing us apart.
I can cast blame anywhere I want; it’s a woman’s prerogative after all, right? But some of the blame lies with me. All those restore points when I should have left were probably of my own making. I can see that now as I look back over them. But I also think they were warnings of some sort. That inner voice that tells you to get out now was screaming at me into my own past with knowledge of what the future would bring. I didn’t listen. Dum vita est spes est. So with hope and expectations, I stayed.
In my newfound wisdom I have also discovered that I have not been easy to live with. Apparently I’m not easy to love, either. I am a creature of very many faults. I am aware of most of them; others have been pointed out to me in hostility. I own them all. I can work on them and try to improve upon them, but they are what make me who I am.
I used to say that my strengths were also my weaknesses. I have now come to the conclusion that it is the other way around. My weaknesses serve also as my strengths. My struggles to face and overcome those faults has only made me stronger. That’s how I know I can now do what needs to be done.
Because I’ve been here before. And because I’m done.