Terms of Consistency

This place and I have a long history.  One moment, I run through the archway, completely late for class and fully in the present moment.  The next, I turn around, glance around the building's white plastered lobby and it's as if it's summer and I'm 17.

Consistency is a weird concept because sometimes we crave it and sometimes we resent it.  Sometimes I smile nostalgically at the fact that this place and I are uniquely intertwined through much laughter, heartbreak, depression and transformation.  Other times, I cringe.  So many forgone attachments still walk this campus - attachments that reach back as or more far than I can remember.  It's a blessing to be known - to have that barometer of how much I've grown and changed.  But it can also be a curse when I'm trying to move away, to break free and everywhere I walk has imprints of the burns on my heart.

How much do we all want consistency?  My theory remains that everyone searches for it, even if they don't admit it.  We all want security whether it be through a job, place, a hobby or a person.  Even those of us that appear to be reckless and constantly swinging from moment to moment do so because we have some underlying sense of security somewhere, even if it can't be seen.

We all search for security...for consistency...for a soulmate.  But the catch is, we all want it on our own terms.  And if we can't have it on our own terms, most of the time we prefer not to have it at all. Because if we don't have it on our own terms, we fear that the enveloping embrace of security, whatever form it comes in, will hold us back.  We focus not on the benefits, but on the cons, believing that our own terms exist somewhere perfectly in the stratosphere.  We forgo the security we want in favor of pursuing something that doesn't exist.

Even we ourselves can't perfectly live up to our own standards - of success, of beauty, of invincibility. How can we expect others to?  How can we expect another person to be a constant, stable ball of support?  How can we expect someone to deal with our darkest demons, fight them when we are pinned to the ground and never lash out or complain?  How can we expect someone to play well with our inner monsters, even if that means forgetting to fight their own?

We can't.  But then why do we?  Why do we say that companionship is only worth it in the case of perfection?  Why are we so quick to choose solitude - to dismiss connection?  What are we afraid of? Is it losing ourselves?  Or is it finding ourselves and having to confront?  Why are we so quick to consider other people as burdens instead of kindred souls that can help?

It's something to think about and something to question in ourselves when we have the option to connect and instinctively turn it down.  Maybe turning down connection is the start of a rite of passage, through which we realize that our own self importance, ego and pride cannot compare to a rare and beautiful bond made with another.  Regardless, there is a balance to be reached between guarding and pursuing our own fulfillment and examining where others may or may not fit in.