Tension & Release

The indefinable societal phenomenon known as "fun" and myself have never gotten along terribly well, and I can't help but try and overtly analyze why that might be.

It seems to me that "fun", as we shall call it, is not as fluid a definition as one might think. "Fun", in my broad definition, is the temporary loss of obedience to the in-coming pressures such as stress, work, familial relations, etc, and the sublimation to the instincts which so often heed us from doing, to use a puerile colloquialism, "doing what we want". Whilst some may propose their own definitions on fun, it seens the continental definition requires these two instances.

Seems harmless, no? I must agree it is harmless, but upon further thought it is not the opposite (which, in this case, is not harmful, as some wordsmiths may infer, but perhaps productive or meaningful?) either. And, in my insatiable quest for un-harmless co-operation with my super-ego, I have dutifully and self-assuringly passed on all of the hands which "fun" has offered me.

Whether my pulsating self-doubt and angst within uncomfortable situations has played is the true genesis of my hesitation to admit succumbing to "fun", or whether it is merely a bi-product of it, is certainly up to debate. There is certainly a level to my mind which I have no access to, yet is eternally at the controls of my movements and thoughts. Why is it that I despise the word? Why do I see it as such a hiderance to the realization of the full potential of this mass of teenagerdom so mobilized yet so unenthusiastic?

"Fun" seems selfish, quite simply, Reader! I see myself constantly at odds with my young adult bretheren. How is it that they are so willing and able to drop all thoughts of that which constitutes un-asked for responsibility? Why is it that this task has eluded me so much that I fear when, finally, I attempt to grab it by the throat, my arms will whisk through the air without the slightest hinderance? Consciously, I feel guilty that I am allowed to withdraw my name from those to whom the world has been dependent upon (those with money, living in America), when really I have done nothing to deserve a place in this priviledged group in the first place. Why, then, should I be allowed to stop worrying about all of those whose names have been forever off of this list? How might we be able to explain our willingness to stop fighting for their benefit?

Of course, you, Reader, are no doubt screaming into your monitor, "We are supposed to fight for others every minute? Are we not of course humans as well? Must out lives be devoted entirely to those outside of ourselves?" Reader, nothing could be farther from the truth. Further, I will admit that it is impossible to be actively improving the world every second of one's day. Unfortunately (perhaps), those who can help are those who have the resources and have worked for themselves, which in turn has been turned into working for others. You do indeed deserve that time to enrich yourselves, to let the tension slowly drip out of the cores of your muscles, to be a solitary person without bonds to those around you. Indeed, this "fun" time may even replenish your abilities to improve the lot of those around you.

For myself, however, I feel I have been dealt a different card. Truly close relationships have come as a rarity to me, and I feel I must fill the radius I put between myself and my acquaintances with grandiose ideas, thoughts of everything beyond my grasp, the finishing touches to plans yet to be put to pen and paper. I have been blessed with a healthy familial relationship, and a brain whose contents allow me to thwart uneasiness due to studies. What stress, then, Reader, have I the need to release, to escape from? Ah, here, Reader, we have arrived at our genesis, our Garden of Eden, if you will.

While many of us may not feel guilt from removing ourselves from that which makes us stressful, perhaps I feel I would be removing myself from the wrong stress. Or, perhaps in my own arrogance, I believe the inverse of the rest of my bretheren. I am perfectly capable of handling any and all criticisms should the latter emerge true.

For this evening, however, the candle burns low, the moon, momentarily, retains jurisdiction over wan deserts and foreboding oceans, until the sun returns from its open-eyed slumber. The crickets resume their symphony after short breaks, taken to ensure that nobody, in fact, is listening; owls vibrate the back of their throats and send their sonorous notes across valleys and mountains. And I, I lay my consciousness gently on a bed of down and ease my body into its perfect, solitary freedom.