You float through pastures of tall grass. They part before you in deference. You are no Moses but the golden walls that flank you didn’t get that memo. The day is weatherless. Even with that tailwind as your chariot you notice no temperature, no air on your skin. The sun pays you homage minus those harmful UVA and UVB thingies. You pull the self-esteem of the sky’s wheel as if your heels are propped up against the base of a shade tree. None of this seems to make any sense, these opposing natures. This is the magic of having passion as your ally. At least this is what it feels like.
Except when it doesn’t.
It’s been said that commitment is the truest form of passion. It’s easy to be committed when all winds are at your back. Not so much when you have a tough day. Passion likes to pose for pictures but commitment is the grunt hoisting coal into the furnace 3 levels below deck.
So let’s talk about commitment. Not the kind that typifies Reality TV matchmaking spectacles. That’s something different for which I’ve not yet determined a proper categorization. No, we mean the kind that screeches onto your street, throws it into park after hopping the curb and stopping just short of your marigolds, takes the spare key from under the statue of the frog wearing a bow tie and top hat, bounds upstairs landing on every third step, enters your bedroom without knocking, flashes the light under your sleigh bed and asks you where exactly it is that you’ve been.
This is commitment.
The kind that demands an answer at the very time you least wish to give one. The variety that refuses to be qualified, that won’t change when circumstances do. The stubborn kind that loves you and knows you love it back.
I’ve been doing some of that thinking stuff lately. Try not to be so scandalized. I know it’s surprising knowing what you know about me. I figure you’re able to handle it by now so let’s think, shall we?
What commitments have I made and how well am I doing at fulfilling them? A forgiving initial analysis would suggest I’m at least average. My ego would like you to know that from his perspective I’m doing a fine job. Don’t tell him I told you but I’m not so sure he’s right on this one. I don’t think I’m doing poorly but that’s the thing about commitment, the particular strand we’re talking about. I’m wondering if there’s a spectrum. Or, if there is, how good might it be to pretend like there isn’t?
If I’m committed to you is there a point at which I can fulfill it partially and still make eye contact with myself?
Is good, good enough?
I can rationalize that in some instances it can be. But I don’t like the way that feels.
I’m going to keep thinking on this. I don’t like to establish unrealistic absolutes.
But perhaps they are the necessary means to an exceptional end.
Photo credit : Flickr
