Reconstruction

 

I didn’t always have the frame of mind I had in the article Serenity.  It took a long time for me to reach that framework, perhaps even over a year.  I cannot find a specific day upon which John and my friendship changed, but I know the number of seasons that have passed since that change took place.

My new mental framework is more flexible than the old one: it is adaptable and allows for faults in the design.  Stress is measured in tolerances instead of limits, and a large safety factor is now in place of the former incautious one.  My old framework was restrictive, required stressful and constant maintenance, yet stood despite the quicksand its foundation was laid upon.

I used to compare my relationship with John to a romance—the item that I was trying to keep our friendship away from in the first place.  I thought that by comparing myself directly to that which I avoided would make me grow stronger.  I wasn’t prepared for the strain it had on my psyche, and I didn’t recognize the damage I was doing to my friend.

It started with syntax; friendship became relationship, hanging out became quality time, and jokes became physicality.  With the change in syntax I couldn’t help to change my outlook.  I couldn’t mentally start thinking of my best friend as a lifetime partner and not realize the potential that such a relationship held.  Logic became twisted and my actions devolved to those of a helpless romantic. 

John recognized the change before I did; in response he pulled back.  In my inebriated mental state I couldn’t recognize what was taking place, and I reacted like a baby losing his pacifier.  I cried, kicked, screamed, and tried to grasp onto what was taken away from me.  John pulled back even more, and our friendship had its first true test.

We both were both so taken by emotion that neither of us could remember why the fight started.  Yet, we reluctantly settled our dispute, both of us trying desperately to restore what we had lost.  While I cannot speak for John, I know that the message hadn’t sunk in personally—my mental framework had kept it out.

The imbalance in my life made me physically ill.  I became anxious and depressed, lost the will to live healthily, and was relentlessly attacked by a number of unsolvable stomach issues.  It wasn’t until later that an unrelated incident brought my framework crumbling down.  And when it did, everything changed.

Imagine if you had lived in twilight your whole life.  You never knew sunlight, only the eerie glow that made up your day.  The first time you saw the sun, it would blind you—leave you empty.  The insurmountable magnitude of that first experience might cause you to ignore it.  But when you noticed it again, this time ready for the experience, you finally realize what your life had been missing.  A plethora of new colors are added to your reality, and with it new details that you have never seen before.

When I felt this way I knew I couldn’t continue living my life status quo.  I burnt the framework of my mentality to the ground, erecting a healthier one in its place.  The process almost destroyed our friendship; it could have destroyed my life.  Worse, it almost destroyed my ideals.

I survived the challenge and became stronger from it.  My new framework is made of newer, more ductile and flexible materials.  The lifespan is longer, the quality of life is better, and the cost is so much less.  It’s not perfect yet, but it is always improving.   It is unfinished, evolving in response to the requirements my environment places upon it.