thinking

    For all that my brain's been whirling a mile a minute today and I can't seem to concentrate at all, what coherent thoughts I have had have been remarkably deep. I'm thinking about my inherent nature: what sort of person am I? And about my Achilles' heel: to what one part of myself can I trace my hardest times? And my future: what, that I am not currently, do I wish to be?
    What sort of person am I? I am a friend. A very serious friend, if that makes any sense. I take friendship as a promise, and I make a promise when I choose to be a friend. In so doing, I (internally) acknowledge that there is very little—and in some cases probably nothing—that I will not do for my friend. Why would there be? As I explained it earlier today, working this out in my mind: it is simple self-interest. I want what I want. I want to be with, to be friends with, my friend. I want that friend to have what's needed. So I do what's needed. There really is no question.
    If there is a question, then we're not friends so much as acquaintances: that special in-between area where I don't actively wish you harm but I also won't go out of my way for you. Why would I? We're not friends. That's what sets apart "friends," after all.
    If someone will not do something for me, if there is that question before willingness, then...are we friends? If I feel it, but you don't? If I am willing, but you are not? A wise man once told me a story about meeting another on a rope bridge built for one. Unless you work together, it works for neither.
    What is my Achilles' heel? That's easy: my attachments. I am emotional, and sensitive, and I attach without warning. Is that immature? Well, if you think that it is, then perhaps you are excessively judgmental. For all my impulsivity, I am also well-educated and thoughtful, considerate and intellectual, logical and passive in many, many ways. For all the leaping I've done, there has been much more looking without action. I deeply regret most of the anxious, indecisive looking, but very few of the leaps.
    What do I wish to be? Well-regarded by my friends, even if not fully respected by my colleagues. Considered a serious artist, in some way, by someone. More contented than not, at least in terms of this wretched sense that my life lacks permanence.
    Or maybe just a little better at surfing.