04 – Lauren’s Second Chance
I’ve been coming to the coffee shop every day now and still Andrew hasn’t as much asked where I go. In a dream world he’d not only ask where I’m going but insist to come along once in awhile. But a dream world I do not live in. No one does.
How sad is it I’m thinking this way? I really shouldn’t. Given my situation… what am I supposed to do? Ironic it is with this newfound sense of freedom – I can’t shake this feeling… as if I’m a prisoner within my own heart.
A dream-world for most would be one with blue-skies and tropical climate and independent wealth and all those things we’re supposed to picture in our minds during relaxation therapy. For this country girl however, my perfect world is one where my boyfriend talks to me and actually wants to spend time with me…
I almost want to feel sorry for myself… but what purpose does that ever serve for anyone?
Without knowing it I’ve spent a lifetime feeling sorry for myself in one way or another… always making excuses for others, rationalizing, kidding myself that everything will be okay. And in doing these things I’ve done since day-one I’ve not only failed to live my own life (while basically living for other people), but worst of all never took the time out to look at my life… to ask myself what I want from life… what I want to do.
It’s sad really, with twenty-some-odd years of existence behind me, I’ve never once really explored what I want from life. I always hid behind the easy and convenient illusion that one day I’d find love and through that love would come the usual suspects – house, white-fence, and a couple of mini-me’s. I always just assumed these things would bring about happiness and meaning, but now I’m not so sure.
Apart from not being certain I want the above mentioned any longer, it’s impossible now to ignore one ugly truth – if love is what will equate to my happiness, how in the hell am I supposed to find said love without getting bruised?
Certainly not with Andrew… That ship has long sailed…
Yet here I am.
When first arriving in the city I found myself judging all the young girls and their plight for fame and fortune – transferring no doubt my frustration with Andrew and his selfish means in chasing the same dream – where now through a different pair of specs I look at myself and wonder how I’m any different. Never wanting or needing or desiring the rich and lavish life of a movie starlet, I’ve gotten by in deeming myself superior on account of my simple wants and needs… A good man to raise a family alongside, that’s all I ever wanted or thought I needed – the farthest thing from a dream (so I thought).
Yet here I am, realizing the only separating factor between myself and all those silicone clones walking the streets is with my pipe-dream, the hard-to-face reality of its not coming true is right there in front of me in flesh and bone form. A little boy incapable of growing into the man I need and long for. And in my inability to let him go, I pity myself…
I pity myself for taking the easy way out – for not actually exploring my options and finding what it is I really want. Anyone can say I want to get married or I’m going to get famous… but no one can tell you how they’ll go about doing it the right way… their way…
In coming to the coffee shop every day I’ve done a lot of people-watching. I’ve honed myself something sharp. I’m not daft. I’m certain all these couples I see walking to and fro aren’t living in fluffy clouds. It’s hard for everyone. And even more so, I clearly acknowledge that even finding love hardly guarantees happiness. More than likely, if one were to survey the country and ask folks if they are happy with the way things panned out – if they’d need or want a second chance at it all again – I’d be stunned to find even one out of ten happy as can be…
Because I see now we all get it wrong the first time around. The question is how fast we turn it around and try again. Still unable to let go of Andrew (for whatever reason) I’ve turned to writing as a way to live my life all over again…
My second chance…
What started as a journal to vent on Andrew has turned into a certifiable manuscript of sorts, in which I come to this coffee shop everyday and slave away, where with every word I write I’m doing it all over again the way I’d want it…
Through my writing, I’ve given myself a second chance at life…
And hopefully, through my writing, eventually I’ll gain perspective on my real-life and find not only how best to break away, but where to run for once freed.
The exploration in both my life and in my fiction has led me to one solid theme – in order to be found something/someone must be at first lost. And lost I am. In both fact and fiction.
In the fictional version of my life, the do-over, my character is fully aware of what the Andrew-character, Brett, is doing to her. She knows she has to break free, but much like the fact version, is uncertain how to go about it.
The fantasy version of my life I write day after day I watch the fantasy version of me make the same mistakes only her results will be slightly different… as I, the real me, have already paid for them. Our slight differences and similarities aside, both the fact and fiction versions of myself are both looking for the same thing… a life to call our own.
And it’s in the most unlikely of places under the most unlikely of circumstances that I find myself in peril, sure, but with said peril there’s light at the end of the tunnel.
In order to be found one must first be lost…
For one to enjoy the light, they need to swell in the dark…
I’ve been wrapped up in my cocoon much too long – tricked into thinking I was the exception of the rule – stupid enough to believe there was room for two in my cocoon…
Alone in a city I once hated and now love, accompanied by a boy I once loved and now hate – I no longer fear the prospect of exploring the great blue unknown alone – fully aware now of the wings on my shoulders, I’m no longer afraid to spread them, take to the skies, and fly away…
Fly high and free… For no one else but me…
