So Sally Can Wait, She Knows It's Too Late As We're Walking On By, Her Soul Slides Away, But Don't Look Back In Anger, I Heard You Say

--"Don't Look Back In Anger", Oasis

I never suffered the misfortune of being moved around as a kid. My family and I lived in one house in Los Angeles until I was about five. Then we moved to the house in Sierra Madre where I grew up for most of my life. I never had to struggle with going to new schools, making new friends, or starting over with the advent of being forced to a new place. My life when I was young was the model of stability.

On the other hand, metaphorically, I think I've been moving almost all of my life.

I don't think I've ever been really content with the status quo. I've always yearned for something that I could never quite put my finger on. There was always something better, brighter, and more alluring on the horizon. I admit, it's lead to some bad choices on my part. In the pursuit of progress I've made some mistakes in letting go too quickly on things I should have held onto. I've said good-bye to people I shouldn't have. I've given up on my projects and pursuits that may have really panned out for me. I always thought there was some pot of gold somewhere over the rainbow for me.

Now, after cutting bait and running on yet another huge part of my life today, I find myself questioning how much longer I can keep this kind of life up. I read these posts and I see how often my regrets stem from this same critical personality flaw. I don't know how to stick with anything or anyone except for a select few who, let's face it, only last because they have the persistence to stick by me through my flight response. I mean--I used to think Breanne was the scared one, running away from home all the time. Now I think the really scared one is me because, though I've never run away from home, I'm always running from my life in one way or another. It's always the same. After one huge fight with someone I convince myself that I don't need him or her. Then I walk. After one crushing blow at work or some hobby in the middle of and my mind instantly turns to giving up. Worst yet, after experiencing one hugely embarrassing moment in a circle of people I've grown to trust, I pack up and leave.

That's me--always willing to commit myself to whatever catches my fancy but leaving before the dust settles.

I wonder what's going to become of me when I have no friends left, nothing new to occupy my time, and nowhere to run. I'm going to be one of those people who looks back on his life and realizes I have nothing and no one to immortalize me. I'll have left nothing on this earth to even show I was here.

I don't want to become that person, bitter and angry because I screwed up almost all of my life.


but all of the things you've seen
slowly fade away

So, yes, this is good-bye again. "Au revoir, Simone," and all that, but this has to be the last time. Lord knows I can't keep moving forever.

Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers