The Ghost of You
Six.
Six.
The pillar of culpable realisation. In two weeks, this new friend- five years my junior- taught me the undisclosed secrets of living. Unbeknownst to him, this sapling revealed to me an orchard of varying viewpoints and arguments and morals. With every awkward anecdote and convoluted tale, his take on making it through this weary world was inspiring. When he fell he tricked the world into believing it was on purpose. When defeated tears broke loose from his exhausted eyes, he had his back turned. The girl with the crooked smile who pulverised his heart into pathetic dust, she needed braces. He barely ever felt that punch in the gut that life seemed to deliver him often. He explained his reluctance to surrender his emotions one dismal night where the fighting seemed to have smugly paused to admire the pain it had created.
Michael told me he was never going to achieve something spectacular. Stars are made to illuminate and scorch and shine forever. Michael was not a star. He told me how he lived his life as an easily persuaded force to be ignored, and that was just fine. In his eyes, it was true that all of us were born to play a part in the dramatic composition of life, however not all of us can have the lead roles. To him, very little of us are enchanting enough, charming enough, attractive enough, brave enough, to be the hero. We were a protagonist ‘s nightmare, and you can’t lead a cast with a brilliance deficiency. Was that a bleakly pessimistic way to assess existence? Perhaps. But according to Michael, most people are in fact what they strive not to be- boring. Yet they overcompensate with survival, and their ability to accept that the components that form their lives are about as exciting as indigestion. No matter how often I dared to argue his points, his intelligence overpowered my weak logic. In time I came to accept that he was entirely correct. There’s a whole world of angst ridden and miserable people around us, picking themselves up and throwing themselves fists flying, back into the fight. There’s no use feeling sorry for yourself, nobody wants to hear the supporting role mope about tragedy. His musings were the unrelenting salt to my self sympathising wounds. I’d passed all this time clinging to the belief that my life had been the world’s biggest misfortune.
At first I was quite right to be devastated, but the evolution of my torment was self inflicted and an overestimation of myself. I had lost something spectacular, but thousands of people potentially lost something equally as spectacular at the same time. Mothers lost their babies, children lost their siblings, teenagers lost their parents, a family lost their grandparent. It happened every minute of every day. Pain will always be a part of life, and even though it’s downright unfair at times, it’s natural and necessary. Without the darkness, the sunlight would not be appreciated. I loved my wife unconditionally and passionately, but by boycotting any form or healing or happiness I’d just been hurting myself further. You don’t have to exist in agony, finding something to smile again for was life. Letting the anger slip away, that was life. Moving on in the knowledge that things don’t always go your way and that you don’t always have to know the answers, that was life. There’s no use acting as a martyr when your cause is so fickle. If it’s true that misery loves company then even misery must have tired of me by now. I’d been spending the aftermath of my wife’s passing pitching myself for the lead role in tragedies that had no place for me.
Michael showed me this.
Michael was wrong.
Michael was a star.
The pillar of culpable realisation. In two weeks, this new friend- five years my junior- taught me the undisclosed secrets of living. Unbeknownst to him, this sapling revealed to me an orchard of varying viewpoints and arguments and morals. With every awkward anecdote and convoluted tale, his take on making it through this weary world was inspiring. When he fell he tricked the world into believing it was on purpose. When defeated tears broke loose from his exhausted eyes, he had his back turned. The girl with the crooked smile who pulverised his heart into pathetic dust, she needed braces. He barely ever felt that punch in the gut that life seemed to deliver him often. He explained his reluctance to surrender his emotions one dismal night where the fighting seemed to have smugly paused to admire the pain it had created.
Michael told me he was never going to achieve something spectacular. Stars are made to illuminate and scorch and shine forever. Michael was not a star. He told me how he lived his life as an easily persuaded force to be ignored, and that was just fine. In his eyes, it was true that all of us were born to play a part in the dramatic composition of life, however not all of us can have the lead roles. To him, very little of us are enchanting enough, charming enough, attractive enough, brave enough, to be the hero. We were a protagonist ‘s nightmare, and you can’t lead a cast with a brilliance deficiency. Was that a bleakly pessimistic way to assess existence? Perhaps. But according to Michael, most people are in fact what they strive not to be- boring. Yet they overcompensate with survival, and their ability to accept that the components that form their lives are about as exciting as indigestion. No matter how often I dared to argue his points, his intelligence overpowered my weak logic. In time I came to accept that he was entirely correct. There’s a whole world of angst ridden and miserable people around us, picking themselves up and throwing themselves fists flying, back into the fight. There’s no use feeling sorry for yourself, nobody wants to hear the supporting role mope about tragedy. His musings were the unrelenting salt to my self sympathising wounds. I’d passed all this time clinging to the belief that my life had been the world’s biggest misfortune.
At first I was quite right to be devastated, but the evolution of my torment was self inflicted and an overestimation of myself. I had lost something spectacular, but thousands of people potentially lost something equally as spectacular at the same time. Mothers lost their babies, children lost their siblings, teenagers lost their parents, a family lost their grandparent. It happened every minute of every day. Pain will always be a part of life, and even though it’s downright unfair at times, it’s natural and necessary. Without the darkness, the sunlight would not be appreciated. I loved my wife unconditionally and passionately, but by boycotting any form or healing or happiness I’d just been hurting myself further. You don’t have to exist in agony, finding something to smile again for was life. Letting the anger slip away, that was life. Moving on in the knowledge that things don’t always go your way and that you don’t always have to know the answers, that was life. There’s no use acting as a martyr when your cause is so fickle. If it’s true that misery loves company then even misery must have tired of me by now. I’d been spending the aftermath of my wife’s passing pitching myself for the lead role in tragedies that had no place for me.
Michael showed me this.
Michael was wrong.
Michael was a star.