I order an Amazon Pantry shipment about once a month. That means I only get candy once a month. It’s like a game. Let’s see how long I can make this candy last. I would rather have a little bit of sugar every day than all the sugar I want with dry spells. It’s how I’ve approached almost every vice I have. I don’t indulge enough to leave myself wanting. I’ve started applying this to my emotional attachments with varying success. 

Some of the people I’ve met are content with my level nature and respond in kind.  It feels like keeping touch via snail mail.  Don’t pressure each other with details until you hang out.  Then there’s something to talk about.  Catch up about life and things that interest one or both of us.  I listen politely when I don’t share the interest and learn new things every day.  I still measure how much of my life I share.  There are so many aspects of mine conflicting with “normal” it’s hard to gauge where I fall on some spectrums.

Others are concerned with my lack of sharing or worse, offended by it.  I empathize with these people as someone that’s recently abandoned codependency.  I keep to myself against the efforts of my soft, little will.  I certainly want to share.  I want to get embroiled in every ounce of drama and sympathy I can.  Indulging in these base reactions is the best distraction from mundane existence.  Everyone wants a constant stream of admirers fawning over their minimal daily accomplishments.  I also want to own a horse and visit Europe some day.  Happiness is hard to wrangle in some arenas.

The most important part is keeping in touch with myself.  I’ve come close to losing sight of why I’m here.  Flirting with the idea of a magic solution to my self-doubt, I almost gave up on surviving an an independent person.  I almost sold myself out to the idea of sex and comfort.  Twice.  My faith faltered and proven solutions started to fail me.  Only the wisdom of inaction saved me from irreparable damage.  Knowing when to stop struggling and just let things happen is as valuable as all the hard work.

I’m practicing yoga regularly again.  I never went to any of the classes a friend generously purchased for me.  It felt wrong, symbolically.  Like wearing an engagement ring after jilting someone.  The sad truth of the situation is how cliche the whole thing is.  Most tropes aren’t self aware.  That’s the whole point.  The saving grace is not knowing you’re the asshole until you’re done being an asshole.  After that it’s just a slow uphill climb back to dignity and self-esteem.  Love is your safety line, so don’t burn bridges.