Moving On (Part Deux) and Growing Up

Hey, people.

Another week draws to a close, and after the initial pain and resentment, acceptance comes along as expected. It's tempting to remain miserable and self-pitiful, but I don't think I can afford to do that for long, not at this stage in life. I think it's even safe to say the worst is over. Grieving is hard work, and I think that I haven't really mourned until I got here. Oh well. Grudgingly my brain (and my heart) digest the fact that this particular story has been played out to the end.

I may not like the ending, but I accept that things can't always go my way either. Unlike SATC, there's no twist in the end, no convenient deus ex machina to make sure everything wraps up in 30 minutes, and no script to help move the plot along. Besides, as always, real life is waiting outside ready to whisk me back to the land of the living, kicking and screaming. Ironic, since that's how we come to the world (with help from the doctor, of course) and also how we leave certain parts of it. We do the best we can under the circumstances, and I think that's the best we can ask of anyone.

It intrigues me to think, however, that perhaps in an alternate world, things turn out different. That I may never have said that fateful hello the first time. That the choices I made were different, opening new doors while closing others. Nevertheless, I am strangely comforted by the thought that maybe in one of these "possible" futures, another Ash.ox is having an entirely lovely day with the one he loves. Of course, all this may also be total hogwash, but I've found that hope is an essential part of the human condition. Why else do we push on against (sometimes) incredible odds? Do we revel in outdoing Sisyphus?

Someone once told me:

Hope is an expensive commodity, all the more since it's entirely based on speculation.

Indeed it is.