Flickering of Youth

Man is made of more than a moment in time, and even the simplest and meekest among us are mere mosaics of the multitude of moments. In the same way that a rope is not composed of a single strand but a series of entwined cords, the soul is composed of all the series and solo events that impact us in ways both small and mighty as the twist and entangle themselves within us, forming the person that we ultimately become.

To be sure, we are not designed so frail and flexible as to be forever forged in a simple glimpse of a moment. Rather, like the fibers of the strongest of ropes, the events that form us into complex and dynamic beings are numerous and varied.

I will not be swayed in this regard; for it is not simple arrogance or determination that has brought me to this conviction, but a lifetime’s worth of experiences and observations that have impressed it upon my soul like a stamp pressed into wax.

I will, however, concede to this truth, in fact, I will demand it to be true: That is that there are moments that, like the kinks and knots of a rope, will cause our existence to bend and twist to their will, and it is in these moments when we choose the manner with which we untangle those knots that the true fiber of our souls is forged. For it is in these pivotal moments of self-determined action and reaction that we find and define ourselves.

We, therefor, create the monsters within ourselves, and those who demand that life defined them without their permission are both fools and liars, if only to themselves. This is perhaps a hidden truth that only those who have reached the age of maturity can uncover. We all chance upon this insight at our own pace, and some of us achieve understanding, if only a glimpse of it, far too early, whilst others are far too old before they allow themselves to see the truth that has been chasing them since before their first breath was exhaled.

Whenever it is achieved, this “coming-of-age” is a moment that is so easily mistaken as defining in itself. For it is when we make this truth known to ourselves that we alter the rest of our lives, aligning our actions with our sudden understanding of the nature of life, but if we are not careful, we may allow understanding and defining to merge into one, remaining forever trapped in the reverie of youth.

Our youth, after all, flickers like the flame of a candle caught in an unending breeze, and then, suddenly, like that flame that finally goes out, we are caught off-foot by the shifting of the wind, and it is then that we are forced to choose. Do we act or react? Do we continue in our ignorance, or do we take the road that has always paralleled our rocky path, waiting for us to stumble upon it?

"For what is ignorance really, if not a feeble attempt at innocence?"

I remember many a flickering flame in my past. I could relate the numerous moments in which understanding was thrust upon me: The moments of terror in which the fight for survival was only too real, and I was caught unawares in a battle of wits, tempting the fates, and barely holding on to my ignorance.

Oh! How I would have liked to have been able to hold onto that ignorance for just a little while longer. For what is ignorance really, if not a feeble attempt at innocence? Still, it was my own will to survive that caused me to grab ahold of this understanding, and it was knowingly that I did leave my childhood behind. Though, the consequence of this I did not fully know at the time.

Was it simply the basic need of hunger that motivated me to act when in want? Was it the basest of urges to choose to leave the fun and games of youth behind at such an early age? Was I full of a special fortitude to begin my life of labor so early or was it merely the instinct to grant food to my own hungry belly?

Was it the instinct for survival that emboldened me to face down the fists of the father who set me shivering from fear in the nights? What sort of father would torment his own child? And what sort of monster do I become when I, the child, fight back that monster that threatens me?

What soothes the desperation and loneliness of that same child better than a beloved dog? What breaks her heart more completely than the sudden and terrible loss of that loyal companion?

Was it fortitude that allowed me to face down the bullies that brought forth blood from my nose and scalp almost daily? Or was it hatred that overturned that bully off my back and onto his own when I once again became cornered and attacked? Did I become my own bully when his fists I leave behind, but his taunts I echo in my own mind some thirty years later?

Was it simply chance that brought me to the doorstep at just the right moment to remove the knife from my mother’s hands as she contemplated her own equal desires for continued life and desperate escape? What terrible events led her to that same path?

Was it strength of character that brought me through all of these traumas and still granted me the scholarships that only Valedictorians receive? Was it weakness of character that brought me to my knees and left me bereft of strength and hope when my mother battled with Cancer? Was it the Cancer that killed my chances of surviving college or was it the desperate fight against my own mind that forced my withdrawal of higher education and a life dedicated to menial work?

Which of these moments acts as that single defining moment? Could any of them stake such a grand claim? Surely, each one by itself is enough to send nightmares accompanying one until youth is all but forgotten, but there are many trials and tribulations yet to be mentioned: Days of desperation and disappointment, nights filled with nightmares and neglect.

It seems it has been an eternity since I left my childhood behind for the labor of the everyday. Surely I have spent more hours in the fields, both metaphorical and real, than many a retired man. Surely I have spent more hours in the fields, both metaphorical and real, than many a retired man.

Yet, the work is still ongoing, and though I feel like a child in my heart, my body began aching before my grammar school days had ended. Though my hair grows thin and pale, my mind is as sharp as my years are still young, and I wonder as yet why I must find these insights before my contemporaries have finished their nights of partying and their days of reverie.

For all of this work and all of these sacrifices, what, though, do I have to show but the labor itself? For the fruits of such labors seem to only be acquired by those who do not do the toiling? I learned long ago that it is not actually the hard work or determination that grant me the rewards, but it is the want and the fruitless laboring that grants me the insights. Is that meant to be my reward?

Ah, but there isn't always a reward, and that is another realization, another one of those moments of definition. Realization in all its grandeur.

Truly, that claim of definition cannot be proven when there is yet another and another to rise up and stake the claim again and again.

"For I (and you) am so much more than a single moment..."

Truthfully, it is all of them together, and none of them alone that I will allow to define me. For I (and you) am so much more than a single moment, but an accumulation of all those moments and all those people and all those companions. I suppose it is true that after each brief but enduring moment, the alteration of self was permanent. Perhaps that is the definition of which is spoken and debated. For there is nothing more defining in nature than alteration in permanence. Yet, there is nothing more enduring than the definition of self that we define for ourselves, and that is the definition I choose to demand be the truth. I again attest that there will never be a moment that I will concede defeat to the majority.

Oh, no. I demand it to be true that we are not defined by a moment or an event, but it is the most conscious of decisions with which we define ourselves. Do we decide to give up our ignorance and our innocence altogether and accept what is inevitable? That is, that no matter what this cruel and beautiful world might throw at us or thrust upon us, we are our own creators and definers.

"That is, that no matter what this cruel and beautiful world might throw at us or thrust upon us, we are our own creators and definers."

The sooner this lesson is learned, the sooner we are complete in our understanding of the nature of self, and the further our innocence is placed from us. Which is better to attain or keep? Ignorance or Insight? Experience or youth? I will keep the rest of my convictions and allow the possibility and satisfaction of self-discovery.