The Things We Care About Most Are The Things We Destroy Best

I am constantly at grips between my brain’s wanderlust and my penchant for certainty. I realize my belief that the former will lead me to the latter isn’t supported by experience or logic but that somehow still doesn’t trivialize its effect. I have always felt as though things are most comfortable when there’s the possibility that they can be different, though that mindset proved to be my Achilles’ Heel. Because I put so much importance on the idea of finding truth that alongside it arrived the fear of getting it wrong, and so began my devolution into uncertainty and indecision.

What I didn’t realize until it was too late was that it was this inability to accept that most things are impermanent and uncertain and fleeting was what led me to destroying any time I would have had with them. We tend to be most indecisive about what means the most and it would seem that our inability to act comes from a place of indifference when it’s completely the opposite. That’s how we destroy the things we care about the most. Because they innately come with the weight of the purpose we have assigned to them and so not knowing for certain, but holding on to hope no matter how disillusioned and naive it may be, will always seem like a better reality than having to accept an unfortunate truth.

It’s easy to be bold and risky when things don’t matter that much. The less you care, the more easily you can take the leap necessary to attaining something and the less it will matter if you can’t. The less I feel that the repercussions of something will affect me, the more I can embrace the uncertainty with ease. But when it does matter, we all tend to get a little more hesitant, and it’s not because we’re assholes who don’t care and won’t act. It’s because sometimes, our feelings are pretzeled up inside and we’re afraid to make a wrong step because it may lean us face first into the possibility that we could dive into the worst case scenario.

We should stop chalking people’s silence and quietness and inability to choose to disinterest. Maybe they know their love for you is a k-hole they’ll never recover from and maybe you scare the mother loving shit out of them and maybe they’re distant because the emotional risk isn’t worth the plain but satisfying plateau of the unknown but hopeful. Maybe we resist the future because we actually do care, and we’re not just whimsical kids trying to live, but burgeoning adults trying to avoid ultimate failure. Maybe the things that are the most real, but the most painfully risky, lead us into a danger that’s one we’re often not willing to chance. Because if there’s one thing we’re all certain about, it’s that taking a risk absolutely makes way for the real possibility that things could go spiraling out of our control in the worst way possible. And sometimes our hopeful ignorance is a safe kind of bliss.

The reality is all we can never know are the very fundamental realities of our experience, ones that we don’t take stock in being too revelationary. We’re breathing. We’re working, self-sustaining or not, healing or not, being, reaching, suffering and recovering. We have friends. We don’t have friends. We have love. We have remnants of love we lost. We have whatever flurry of happenstance came together to give us what we have right now. And most of the time, only tiny bits of it will ever make sense at once. And we don’t have to be sure. The only way to be certain of anything is to risk it when doing so seems like it could end the very world we spin on, and seeing what happens from there. From falling we’ll grow and from succeeding we’ll know for certain that what we were feeling wasn’t uncertainty but withheld impulse and hesitation about what was always there to begin with. Pain is part of the process and fear a part of the story. We just can’t keep writing people off because they act, or rather, don’t act, on the fear in a way we perceive as disinterest. I think we’ll end up  disconnecting ourselves from the possibilities that way, and in the end, the chance that things could be different may be all the hope we can hold for certain. TC Mark

image – myDays / S.Lee

More From Thought Catalog