Jumping off the Mobius Strip of Progress

I've written many, many words over the past couple of weeks; most of which will probably not be seen by anyone else. Which is undoubtedly a good thing, because those words were generally misguided attempts for me to sort out what was going on in my head.

I say misguided because I was writing for the same audience that created the situation in the process: Myself. Those words would become a cyclical, self-reinforcing morass of questions without answers; a mobeius strip that forever held the illusion of progress on a path towards enlightenment.

Without a reader, without a listener outside of myself to absorb, understand, and to call "Bullshit!" on the obviously correct assumptions that made up these well-worn paths, the perpetual non-progress would just further fuel the perception that I was just that screwed up, that there was no point in trying to make sense of anything, and that I should just generally not bother.

Fortunately, I never was terribly good at giving up on things.

For as long as I can remember, I've wondered what the point of all of this has been. As a young kid wondering "Why did God put me on this planet?" to my ever-unanswered, self-referential "what am I?" question, it always seemed, if not quite random, completely arbitrary.

But if it is indeed arbitrary, who is the arbiter? God, in his/her/its infinite definitions? I eventually dismissed this answer (for reasons I won't get into here), primarily it made even less sense than a simple probability and coincidences of a bajillion independent actors.

My "One small step, one giant leap" moment came when I realized that I wasn't just an observer, but also one of those independent arbiters. I didn't have to accept what was handed to me; I could also act and change the world.

...Queue a whole new mobius strip of my trying to figure out what the right actions and goals should be. I got stuck here for a long time, afraid to do annoying lest the butterfly effect of some random conversation bring about Middle Eastern peace.

Still, progress was made, slowly.

I generally tried do do what I felt was right, even when there didn't seem to be much point in the end. I built myself up, learned new skills, tried to experience new things, and would share the results freely, especially when they were of the culinary variety. "All things are worth knowing" and "Specialization is for insects" were two of my mantras.

Yet it still felt quite ... arbitrary, with nothing beyond general (arbitrary!) principles, to guide me.

Yet it wasn't arbitrary. I my choices had a pattern and purpose; my skills complementary and self-reinforcing, and my experiences providing incredible insight to how the world works in their attempts to connect to and yes, change, the world.

I used to say that I sort of stumbled into most major events of my life; accidental encounters that led to employment or relationships. Sort of being consistently lucky with "right place, right time" for something new to unfold. Yet it still felt like chance; that I had no real hand in these events; that they just, well, happened, and I would just go along with it. Because, hey, why not? It's all arbitrary anyway, and it seemed better than where I already was.

This changed for me, on a professional level, a bit over a year ago. I found, and accepted a new position that was several steps beyond what I'd done before. I knew I was a good fit, and oh how I wanted to do it. All of those seemingly-arbitrary skills I'd built and honed, my substantial knowledge of industry trends, my ability to arbitrate, organize, plan, and explain big-picture stuff.. I was at the right place, at the right time, and.. I was the right person.

All of that seemingly-arbitrary work and learning for so many years had led me to be poised to say "hell yes!" when opportunity presented itself. Even that's a somewhat fatalistic view; I sought this out. For the first time in many years, I had a current resume and was actively looking for new employment. I was open, seeking, and.. ready.

One year ago this Sunday will mark the end of my first year here.

I'd jumped.

Just under two weeks ago, this repeated itself, only on a personal level. The background is too long to go into now, and the details are too new, too raw as they continue to unfold, but.. again, right time, right place... right person. I was open, seeking, and.. ready.

I jumped.

All of that heartache, that pain, and the self-discovery of recovery; All of that self-discipline and learning to control (or not!) without strangling; All of my poking and prodding and endless hours with a shovel, trying to get to the core of what makes me tick; The slow, inexorable acceptance of what I am, and learning to be okay with it.. All of this has led to today, the electronic equivalent of a dozen crumpled balls of paper, and what you are reading now.

I've jumped, with eyes wide open.

The affinity I feel for this woman is incredible; two incomplete puzzles, torn, mangled, broken, disassembled and re-assembled and sort-of-mended over the passage of thirty-five years, independently making choices, at just the right time, to just the right place.. like an intricate West African drum rhythm with completely independent parts that combine and whirl and spin off only to end, hours later, at the precise, exact downbeat. A perfect, like-it-was-meant-to-be-like-this-all-along fit.

I've jumped, and left another, very-well-worn mobius strip behind.

I've jumped, into an unknown, yet somehow known, future.

I've jumped.