A Choice to be Made

Looking back to the dimly lit basement we sat in - drinks in hand - remembering the conversation is easy. We spoke of things related to nothing, caught up on the times in such a manner as to catch up on only ourselves – we commented upon things past and present. My drink, some previously unknown beer, swirled in the chalice it came in until the choice was made. It slid past my tongue, thick with an abundance of words, and landed deep in my stomach.

The conversation drifted onward, and even in my memory the room then drenched in wood colors seems lit by a red hue as if to apply ominous and foreboding tone. As if to raise a marked flag on that spot and force my mind to recall it at whim.

The words were alive with her tone; they seemed to hint that by elevating themselves in pitch and intonation, they would ring more truth. My muscles found my head and forced it to nod in agreement; they forced it to nod an acceptance. What she was said wasn’t new to me, it had been heard before but was so to say, the camel’s back that broke my straw. My ideas, repeated, and then dashed atop one another until forced into place where their own weight was sufficient. Sufficient to crush themselves.

She said only that the freedom to do anything - that was my freedom. My choices were almost unlimited, and she hinted that they would be squandered. Again, my head found itself motioning to agree, the freedom given to myself through servitude and training did allow for seemingly unbounded freedom. Yet my desire was, and remains, unimpressed with options.

The only choice wanted then was the choice to choose, not to act. It is such still. Where as then it was not yet a battle to decide upon an act, it became a furious war of options and whims. And so it remains! A daily pondering of my future choices – an attempt to find my future perfect. Yet, no closer now than years ago, my options seem humorous and meager – finding positions to fill and goals to accomplish were never much of my persona.

The choice must eventually be made however, so the battle will rage on. The marked flag will continue to wave in my face and must eventually be answered. The time to decide will eventually run out, and my fear is that my decision will only be made when time has expired.

It is unfortunate that the words ring true – “Desire is not an occupation. – K.M.F.DM.” But thanks for the wakeup call, even though it might have only woken me up to my own lack of ambition. Perhaps a resolution for the coming year can be to plan. To start swimming, either with or against the current, but a plan to stop just floating on.