guarded

"So, my little Amélie, you don't have bones of glass. You can take life's knocks. If you let this chance pass, eventually, your heart will become as dry and brittle as my skeleton."

~Le fabuleux destin d'Amélie Poulain

I’ve come to the conclusion that if people would just say what they mean, and mean what they say, the world would be a better and far less confusing place. So why is it so hard? What are we so afraid of? Or is it just me who’s scared? How can it be that mere words, once sprung from our mouths, can seem so much like bullets handed over to be used at will for our own destruction?

I realize that for most of my life, I’ve been a pretty closed book. I don’t know exactly to what extent I was born that way and to what extent I was molded as such by some of life’s small cruelties, but there it is. As I was driving the other day, a disturbing thought suddenly hit me: I think that I've become really fucking good at hiding. So good in fact, that instead of providing the intended protection, it's proved a detriment to me. Holding me back from possibilities, from "could be's"...

And so again I find the universe nudging me with a gentle reminder, this time in the incarnation of a film: Amelie, which the other evening I discovered was playing in Dolores Park that night and spontaneously decided to go watch. Ok, life, I get it: I'm like Amelie. I need to escape the dream world I too often inhabit and learn how to take actual risks. I need to rip off my Zorro mask and face the world unafraid. I must stop sending my garden gnome off on glorious adventures and take them myself instead. I know, I talk a big game about wanting to take chances and not have regrets about holding back, but how can I do that if time and time again I'm too afraid to really put myself on the line? Truth be told, I'm not even sure I fully know how to do it.

But I'm trying, I really am. Well, I think that in a way this blog itself is evidence of that, of me trying to be more open to the world in general. To unlock the gate and step out into the open, knowing that at any second the bullets may be flying around me, but that they can't hurt me. Well... hurt possibly, but not kill. These bones are not made of glass, nor is my heart.