Fits

Giving up the lies. Releasing my grip on the favorite theory, the comfortable distraction, knowing when to stop and retreat and hide.

Life can be like sculpture that way, removing the extraneous to reveal the art beneath.

My only regrets have been waiting too long, believing when I knew the falseness of the faith, staying out of an ill defined sense of misplaced responsibility. Cutting off contact with my family sooner, leaving the bad marriage much sooner, walking away from an argument, a hollow friendship. My arms ached too long carrying baggage I no longer needed. The awful realization - why have I kept this trash so long?

My mother's stories about unconditional love, that really meant VERY conditional love, or more to the point, no real love, but the words to paper over that inconvenience in abundance and in all weathers.

The ex who kept saying "we have something" when what he meant was he could still sucker-punch me and string me along. That he didn't want to lose the game, so insisted we keep on playing past all reason.

At least my father, for all that he was a rat, sorta knew he was a rat. An insane, mean, lying bastard of a rat. But he didn't have a lot of convincing pretense. I really wish I'd cut off contact as soon as I moved out. That would have been honest. I wasn't that honest, then. Took me a while. I regret leaving that hole in my integrity so long. For the sake of my mother's soft, loving lies.

But I was thinking about why I went into theater, and I kept imagining myself touching people. A quiet reaching out that changed their lives. Which actually is what I do. I offer physical comfort, a hand, a presence beside them as they enter oblivion for a while. They won't remember, not as such. Still.

It isn't what I discard, it's what I keep. And I only want to keep what fits, what is best.