the dance of the ink riddled fingers

small. consistent. steps.

Posted in epiphany tiffany, handfuls of ambition by enisea on 28/04/2011

The horizon has met me and I’m 78 % sure I have swallowed the latest epiphany.  I’ll find out at the end of this year (soonest) if it was properly digested… or not. What’s puzzling is that unlike most of my revelations, this one has not hit me square on the nose or flashed at me with neon laughter.  This one sort of snuck in through an ajar entrance and stood with beaming smile amongst my furniture, just waiting for me to notice it’s obvious presence.  And as I caught a glimpse of this familiar-but-unfamilir face from the corner of my eye and whirled to meet it front on, flashbacks of previous noticings cascaded before my perplexed gaze.

I’ve seen you before. You’ve been an echo of my passion.  Too meek to challenge my thoughts in violent dual, you are of different strategy than that of winning me by conquest or humiliation.  You made sure to plant carefully  your seeds and wait.  A little smile here and a furrowed brow there, you documented my progress and  like a wise and warm gardener you waited for me to grow.  And I bore little shoots, I grew little roots, applauding myself for simply being visible and adoring the sun until it scorched me.  You smiled and then whispered “there’s still plenty to grow”.  So I breathed in your words and like an enthusiastic and naive sapling,  I let burst growth spurts and forced myself ascend to greater heights, winding myself around the structure of an upright stake.  However, my fast and proud success began stubbing my authenticity, and those I perceived lesser than me I’d express some sort of negativity towards.  So you left me for a minute and returned brandishing sympathetic smile and gleaming secateurs and you cut me back.  Your face crinkled when you saw inconsistencies on me, when one branch was withering and another thriving. “This doesn’t make sense,” you smirked with a hint of concern, “You are going to confuse people and they won’t be able to recognise you to any sort of fruitful and lovely species.  Grow that part of you, dear, or you’ll never reach the metre mark and nobody will believe you’re actually mine.  Because my plants don’t grow like that”.

Ahh, voice of Reason via the body of Consistency.

This is the epiphany: Consistency. (And no, I did not dream that I was a plant and that this dialogue transpired. For the sake of my compulsion to present everything analogically- because that it how I best understand, and you best comprehend my thoughts – I regaled said epiphany via fictional parallel…)

I used to dismiss Mother’s desperate and frustrated plea for me to clean my room. I would heed her and keep my head sheepishly downcast… with thoughts of: yes, but that’s just me…I’m unique remember. I don’t have time to clean my room, I have more important things to do like seeing people and doing assignments and planning my children’s lessons and schedules.  And why the big fuss, I’m a ‘good girl’, I adore church and unlike the 70% of my peers, I don’t go out every night or have a string of boyfriends or get drunk.  I’m not a workaholic who accumulates ridiculous hours, cash, and neglects people.  What’s CLEANING MY ROOM got to do with my character? Seriously Mother, you’ve got a good kid, don’t complain.

Ah, but the firm grip of Consistency begs to differ. She rebuts with wise gentle whisper: Ah Child, you expect to be given weightier assignments and responsibility when you can’t even get your 20% or 33% college assignments in on time that you said you enjoyed.  You expect to be given much to be responsible over when you cannot even show a perpetual responsibility over the care and organisation of the inanimate abundance in your bedroom.  You expect to be given greater roles with children when the ones you supposedly care for, you collate planning for 48 hours prior to…at best?  You expect to be a healthy role model when your eating habits are of emotional and excessive order? You want to be hands on and help build houses in Third World countries, but you do not have the stamina for it, you never exercise – you would be heavier a burden than helpful a hand.   And what of your friendships?  The best of them are not consistent.

You will go far with little steps very frequently.  But little steps nonetheless.

I have never been so relieved and/or excited to clean my room.  It’s the first half of my Mother’s Day gift. Don’t say it’s lame, it’s a really hard thing for me to do.  I’ll show you when it’s done, I have til next Sunday.  I’m doing everything very slowly. 

Unfortunately, I’m a child of hype and intention (like most of my generation)… I often don’t follow through.

And for this, I apologise. But you know what I say about apologies? The best way to say sorry is to change.

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One Response

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  1. Gabrielle said, on 01/05/2011 at 10:37 AM

    “The best way to say sorry is to change” How true! Thanks! From a girl who has no problem keeping her room tidy! :)


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