When You Try So Hard To Be Everything

I once tried to be the loyal friend. The one who stands up for any unjust word uttered, for any misunderstanding left misunderstood. The listener and the supporter. I tried so hard to be the loyal friend, it flustered my friend into a failed friendship.

I once tried to be the giving lover. The one who absorbs it all, the joy and the anger, but only radiates strength. The one who sees him for his core and not his embellishments. I saw him so much, it left him feeling exposed to the point of insecurity.

I once tried to be a dancer. One with movements from deep within. Arms extended to no clear end and heart open to the music of the underdogs. I got myself caught up in the technicalities of it, and they became chains. I lost the freedom it once lent me.

I once tried to be a writer. One with words for every moment. A word for every feeling and a feeling for every word. I told my mentor I wasn’t a writer, just an aspiring one. He asked me what my definition of a writer was, and I had no answer. To him, a writer was simply a person who writes. I disagreed. He told me the problem wasn’t in the definition, it was in me.

I once tried to be a swimmer. The air turned into water, and the water became oxygen. Half fish, half human. A new home and a place of belonging. A release and a space void of social commitments. A one, two, three, breath, three, two, one, breath. A soothing rhythm and a break from all connections. I was afraid of turning it into dancing and so I kept it for leisure.

I once tried to be a protestor. The one who is politically active with a wide understanding of current affairs. I became passive with a wide understanding. Protesting for no clear alternative was disenchanting. I left it for academic discussions and a conversation over a cup of coffee.

I tried to be a lot of everything. I tried so hard I became a little bit of some things.

Then I grew up to realize that was enough to be me.