The longer is the gap between my posts the longer it takes me to type out the first sentence. Writing seems like a gym routine I used to have many years ago, the rekindling of which causes pains and aches in places I had forgotten were a part of me. But with enough drivel and a real time narration of the thoughts that I experience as I type, I think I just might get through the first paragraph. As a matter of fact I think I just have. Phew!
SO! You and I are here today to banter over one of mine and perhaps yours, daily struggles. The continuous battle to balance comfort and compliance. I like any self respecting human believe that I am original, a single and relatively unique state resulting from multiple, interdependent, temporally hierarchical probabilities. I reject the premise of me complying to society’s fashions and trends. Yet, my survival and general happiness is contingent on me being able to fit in or conform. So I do the bare minimum (I think). With my ego standing in the way of complete rationalization, I will of course always underestimate by how much I comply. But perhaps this acknowledgement itself is not worth nothing.
In the effort to find my place in the society in which we find ourselves, I seek groups to identify with. Those few people who without truly knowing them, I can call my own. I can do so for I observe them making choices and decisions which I could see myself making in situations similar. In this quest lies the problem which prompts this post. I am a relatively liberal thinking person. Someone open to the idea of thought driving life rather than custom or tradition. But my childhood and formative years shall always remain steeped in a relatively conservative base. One which was formed around the precepts of collectivism, familial belonging and other proper senses of propriety. These two forces I find battling within myself. This presents quite a conundrum for although I enjoy the intellectualism often accompanying unrestricted thought, I find my stomach too weak to embrace the accompanying lifestyle.
The devil may care attitudes, a sense of bohemianism, free love and all that is just the kind of beverage that I am happy seeing being served, but less so consuming. The more prim, more proper, less pronounced state of being of the conservative is intrinsically more appealing. That of stability and a lack of exhausting disruptions. As you shall appreciate, this kind of biamorous relationship is unhealthy and even impossible. To properly belong, I must do as either do with rigour. I must party with the hip and pray with the holy. I must banter with the informed and settle with the comely. Some of you might see no problem in doing so and I envy you. I find the hip too cumbersome and the traditional too simple. Somewhere out there surely there is a niche for the tattoo hating, idea loving, change embracing, simple living folk. Those who live not in the confines of their surroundings nor that of their imagination.
Perhaps like others, this is an invented problem, a construction conjured to explain away my personal shortcomings. But somehow I feel the struggle between what has defined identity in the past and what shapes it today is one that faces more than the entity indicated by the perpendicular pronoun. Every immigrant, every young adult, every consumer of mind altering materials must have this invisible tussle in them. Alas solace cannot be sought in the mere replication of seemingly personal problems, but through immediately accessible exemplification.