The Monster That Is Reason

            This morning, I’ve been thinking about reasons. The reasons we do something or don’t do something. The reasons we fall in love. The reasons we fight for it. The reasons that move us to change careers, move across the country, and even jump off of cliffs with only a giant rubberband to protect us from going SPLAT.

            There is, I think, I difference between a reason and an excuse. Sometimes, the line there is fine and a little grey. Sometimes, an excuse looks like a reasonable facsimile of a reason. And even though a reason might seem pretty, polished, pristine, and noble on the outside – the inside is more like horseshit and rotten eggs.

            The honest truth is that I rather detest simplicity in that I don’t want what comes easily. I find anything that simply drops into my lap highly suspicious. Because I believe in hard work. I believe in fighting for beliefs. I believe in fighting for change. I believe in fighting for someone. I am, sometimes, incredibly shy. I am not a naturally good speaker when I’m emotional – meaning, my first instinct is to totally shut down and go mute. Not exactly constructive. So, that’s a thing I’ve always worked on.

            Sometimes, you watch someone make a choice. And as they do this (possibly in a moment of panic), they ask you something unthinkable. We do this, as people – we ask impossible things of those we love. Or think we love. Or think love us. Because, simply put, when our hearts are involved, everything is messy. It’s complicated. And we become off-key trumpet players in a crazy ass parade.

            The funny thing is that love allows us to at least attempt the impossible for the sake of another person. And being in love with someone means putting that other person first, occasionally to our own determinate. So, even if you ask me something that leaves me feeling like half-dead unfortunate roadkill, I will try. Because to me, it’s what you need. Or think you need. Or are pretending to need, because maybe it’s…safer. And me? I am many things, but none of them are easy.

            In relationships of all kinds, we are all walking risks. No relationship is ever perfect. It’s never going to be something you’d find on Sesame Street. And that’s okay. Because this is life, and life is messy. But I’ve never been a fan of taking the easy way out, even if it’s for a supposed noble reason. Sometimes, though, the alternative is scary. Because it means change. It means big change. For that to happen, you have to want it. Instead, it’s often easier to just push the other option aside, bury the idea under the rug, and carry on.

            But there’s one thing I know, it’s that shoving something out of sight doesn’t alter its existence. It doesn’t alter its effect, either. It might be a quick, temporary bandaid, but it doesn’t fix what’s actually broken. Sometimes, the honest truth is that there is no repair for something, for a situation.

            Let’s give a hypothetical. Let’s say that a given situation is an equation with multiple variables. You remove one of the variables to make the equation less complicated, simpler. Doing that might make it look easier to tackle, but it doesn’t actually fix anything. The equation is still a problem, without a solution.

            If you’re trying to repair something, you can’t just remove the complicated bit and hope it still functions. That’s like taking a broken carburetor out of an engine and not replacing it. Sure, you’re taken out what’s faulty, but that doesn’t make the car run. It doesn’t make the engine work.

            There are so many reasons we take the easy way out. Where we fling ourselves on our Roman swords for motivations that look good on paper. It seems right. It sounds good. It’s a thing you can point to and say, “Look at what I just sacrificed. Look at what I gave up.”

            But I cannot say that’s inherently noble. I cannot say that the reason given is necessary good enough, though often times that isn’t my thing to judge. But, to quote from Scandal, “you give for what you love.” Sometimes, darlings, the only thing you have to give is yourself. No matter how much your hands are shaking or the words are coming out wrong.

            Love is never a habit. It is a kind of gravity. And gravity doesn’t just disappear because you close your eyes and pretend it’s not there.