Want Vs. Need

I can’t seem to ever say what I need to on the phone because I never have been very good at regular conversation. I’m a much better writer.  I love you. I miss you when I’m not here because I like to hang out and talk with you and do stuff with you. You are funny and smart and I look up to you so much. And I guess you’re right: sometimes I do choose the things that make me happy and not always the things I need to do. 

I guess I watched you for so many years do what you needed to do, most of the time much more than your fair share, and you never seemed to get the rewards you deserved. And it pissed me off.  It has always pissed me off. It’s why I have such a chip on my shoulder about people who don’t appreciate their comfortable, cushy lives. It might also have to do with that tiny chip on the other shoulder having to do with jackass men, but that’s for another day.

 I know you don’t understand my friendships or my relationships with women, just know that I find strength in those bonds. Encouragement, love, support, comfort. I have missed you guys and I’m sorry for the times I’m absent, but I know that you don’t always understand my choices and my beliefs and lifestyle and sometimes I lose the balance between maintaining who I am and trying to be who others think I should. And I haven’t figured out any way to maintain that balance except when I am completely alone. Alone with my thoughts and time to put them down on paper. 

And when I have that, when I’ve had it first and foremost, I’ve thrived. I have been the most successful and happiest I ever was. And the best part is, I contribute these stories to our culture and to our history. I know I’m not currently making money at it, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t what I’m supposed to be doing.

 Maybe what I’m not supposed to be doing is spending my entire life freaking out about money, fighting about money, losing the love of my life over money. Maybe the problem isn’t about me doing what makes me happy and therefore productive and sane and a contributing member of society. Maybe the problem is other people deciding what I need to do. Maybe, just maybe, it’s the terrifying thought that I can just choose not to follow the rules and still be okay. I followed the rules, Mom. I followed unreasonable rules, contradicting rules, rules I didn’t know about until after I’d been hit for breaking them, rules that applied only to girls, or to poor people, or just to me.

 I’m almost forty now. How much longer do I have to continue in these games where the rules and deck are stacked against me? And in the long run, Mom, that is all it is. A game. Someone thinking they need to have power over someone else. Thinking they need to win and make sure everyone else loses.  When the truth is, all of that’s just stuff. And it won’t make one bit of difference in the end. Only the experiences we’ve had, the love we’ve shared, and the mysteries of our own existence we’ve been able to understand. We take nothing else.  I know what my power is, where my strength lies.

I guess what I’m saying is, I’ve tried negotiating with the world, meeting people on their terms and institutions in their construction, but I have found them mostly to be unreasonable and irrational and willing to let me give away my soul without even a second thought. So now they will all have to negotiate with me. As I see fit. And no I’m not nuts (okay, maybe a little) and yes I’ve been taking my meds. I just need to go for awhile. To spend time with my friends, people who don't think I'm a raving lunatic because I talk about things like constructs and rule-breaking. And who get it when I need to spend time by myself.

I love you and I hope you understand.