when time runs out
I am trying to understand.
I am also trying to be understanding.
Both are difficult.
I know that when someone asks me what I like to do, or what I would like to do with my time, I might reply "cliff jumping into the river." It's true, after all. I've done it before and I'd do it again. From the comfort of a desk chair or my couch at home it presents itself only as a fun and exciting way to spend time in the summer with your friends. But I also know that when the time comes to do it, when I've swam across the river and climbed ashore and made it to the top of the bluff and I'm looking down into the water that I might not jump. I know that I might fail. I know that the water is deep enough and I know that I have jumped here before and have never been hurt, and I trust the people I am with and I remember doing this before and loving it... And I know that despite all that I still might not jump. Or not right away, or not without convincing, or not without seeing a friend do it first, or a few friends. Or it might take a little meanness on their part, a little teasing, a little frustration, a little pushing. Or a little encouragement, or a little reminder of past times, or a little re-assurance. Or it might just take some time. I might just need to sit there and think it through. I might just need to jump from lower down to warm up. I may have jumped from here before and everything turned out fine, and I may know beyond a doubt that I am safe and that I will be fine and that I will love it and that I don't want to leave here today without having jumped... But I still may not jump without fear. I may delay. I may balk. I may stall. And I may eventually jump. No one will know, including me, until I do, if I will or not.
I am trying so hard to remember this. I am trying to also remember that I am not built the same as anyone else in the world, and that no one is like anyone else, but that we are all still the same. We all might balk at jumping, even having jumped before or knowing it's safe. I am trying to remember how people are built differently, how men and women are equal but not the same, that analogies are such that I can say with confidence that I have been in your shoes before and I understand. I hope I can stop being a mean, pushy friend and start being a supportive, understanding friend, a comforting set of memories, a re-assuring knowledge base. I will do my best to be these things for you while you are swimming across the river, climbing ashore, and waiting on the bluff. I won't leave without you, and I can't jump without you.
I am also trying to be understanding.
Both are difficult.
I know that when someone asks me what I like to do, or what I would like to do with my time, I might reply "cliff jumping into the river." It's true, after all. I've done it before and I'd do it again. From the comfort of a desk chair or my couch at home it presents itself only as a fun and exciting way to spend time in the summer with your friends. But I also know that when the time comes to do it, when I've swam across the river and climbed ashore and made it to the top of the bluff and I'm looking down into the water that I might not jump. I know that I might fail. I know that the water is deep enough and I know that I have jumped here before and have never been hurt, and I trust the people I am with and I remember doing this before and loving it... And I know that despite all that I still might not jump. Or not right away, or not without convincing, or not without seeing a friend do it first, or a few friends. Or it might take a little meanness on their part, a little teasing, a little frustration, a little pushing. Or a little encouragement, or a little reminder of past times, or a little re-assurance. Or it might just take some time. I might just need to sit there and think it through. I might just need to jump from lower down to warm up. I may have jumped from here before and everything turned out fine, and I may know beyond a doubt that I am safe and that I will be fine and that I will love it and that I don't want to leave here today without having jumped... But I still may not jump without fear. I may delay. I may balk. I may stall. And I may eventually jump. No one will know, including me, until I do, if I will or not.
I am trying so hard to remember this. I am trying to also remember that I am not built the same as anyone else in the world, and that no one is like anyone else, but that we are all still the same. We all might balk at jumping, even having jumped before or knowing it's safe. I am trying to remember how people are built differently, how men and women are equal but not the same, that analogies are such that I can say with confidence that I have been in your shoes before and I understand. I hope I can stop being a mean, pushy friend and start being a supportive, understanding friend, a comforting set of memories, a re-assuring knowledge base. I will do my best to be these things for you while you are swimming across the river, climbing ashore, and waiting on the bluff. I won't leave without you, and I can't jump without you.